


Prelude for Losers?

by Yin



Series: The opposite of war is... {Sci-Fi AU} [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:46:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yin/pseuds/Yin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Find out what happened before the events of <i>When We Were Soldiers</i>!</p><p>In this prequel collection, you'll find connected character-specific introspective one shots that delve into the backstories of our favorite mismatched group of soldiers before they arrived in Chorus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Simmons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

From Richard “Dick” Simmons’ perspective, the party was far too loud and suffocating. The redhead hated these kinds of events, and he especially hated how his father forced him to attend them.

This was his father’s party. These were _his_ guests and business associates, not Simmons’. Simmons was only fourteen! Forcing him to attend these professional parties was practically tantamount to torture.

Simmons was fourteen, gangly and awkward. He was well aware of the fact that his father saw him as more of an embarrassment to their family’s proud lineage than anything else. The look of disappointment that crossed his father’s face whenever his lanky son entered a room didn’t go unnoticed.

Truthfully, _why_ his father even wanted Simmons at these types of events given his utter disdain for his offspring was beyond the boy’s comprehension.

This party was even more insufferable than the others Simmons had attended in the past. Being forced to “mingle” was destroying what little anxious nerves he had left. The atmosphere was stuffy and downright oppressive. Simmons couldn’t _breathe_.

The conversations around him were either all of the dull and super boring variety, or they were of the depressing topic of the ongoing war and how their region was evidently now a Red one.

The pale skinned boy hated hearing about a planet-wide conflict being broken down into numbers and business models, especially when real people were out there fighting and dying for whatever reasons they might have. The thought of it all had always been enough to turn Simmons’ stomach.

His mother would say his reaction was because he was a sensitive soul. His father would say it was because he was weak. When it came to how he viewed himself, Simmons honestly wasn’t sure which of his parents’ sentiments was the most truthful, and that made him feel even more pathetic.

Simmons could picture his father’s disapproving glare, could hear the mental accusation that was no doubt lurking beneath those cold green eyes. He wondered, for not the first time in his life, if in his father’s assessment he had found his truth.

After what seemed like _hours_ and _hours_ , his mother looked up from her conversation with some of his father’s business associates’ spouses. She only ever seemed truly happy in these fleeting moments by herself, and that always made Simmons feel sad and guilty somehow.

The redheaded woman must have noticed how miserable her son appeared. She offered him a sympathetic sort of smile and nodded her head, giving him the out that he had been desperately craving since the night began.

Simmons took it without a second thought, relieved to finally be free from the stagnant party of adults.

*****

When Simmons came bounding up the steps to the third story of the mansion that his father called their family’s _“residence_ , _”_ he was at first undisturbed by the sight of the open door to his sanctuary. Honestly, the teen was just relieved to get away from the source of his anxiety.

At this level, party noises still filtered through the floors in soft, muted tones. But, he could tune them out if he focused enough. At any rate, it was far better than being down there in the midst of a stuffy business gala.

Still, the sight of his bedroom door being opened gave him pause. He always kept it closed due to his father not wanting to be reminded of his son’s more academic leanings. Simmons likened the room to being his own private sanctuary of sorts, so that was fine with him. Really.

The door being ajar wasn’t entirely unusual though. Perhaps one of the servants had just forgotten to close it again, which meant he should do so now to keep them from getting in trouble with his parents. Considering how the redhead had planned on staying in there the rest of the night, it wouldn’t pose a hindrance for him.

But, just as Simmons reached for the door’s control panel, he paused at the sight of one of the party guests standing in the middle of his bedroom.

He vaguely recognized the older man from his father’s earlier introductions, though it took a moment for the name associated with the weathered face to mesh inside the lanky boy’s surprised brain. Malcolm…Hargrove, he believed it was.

All Simmons really knew about Hargrove was that he was a business associate of his father’s as well as something of a friend. Oh, and that he was intimidating as _fuck_.

The older man hadn’t even turned around, but he apparently sensed Simmons’ dumbfounded expression on his back.

“Quite an impressive collection of scholarly achievements, Richard.” Hargrove told him, motioning to the wall where Simmons’ awards and good scores, even though he still wasn’t the best at test taking no matter how hard he tried, were displayed.

Simmons was so caught off-guard by the compliment that he blinked, his brain unsure of how to process it.

“My father thinks they’re pointless.” He finally blurted out, and he could kick himself for saying something that would probably get back to his father and make him even _more_ disappointed in his son.

Hargrove turned to look at him directly then, and there was something in his assessing gaze that caused Simmons to stand up straighter. It was like the look his father stared through him with, only a million times worse because Hargrove was directing it _at_ him. The redhead couldn’t help but squirm uncomfortably under the intensity.

“Yes, well,” Hargrove smiled thinly, “Your father has much to learn when it comes to intellectual pursuits.”

Simmons was unsure of how to respond to what seemed almost like a jab at his father. So, he simply nodded mutely, figuring it was his best option.

Hargrove moved past him to leave, stopping for just a moment to pat Simmons on the shoulder, “I hope the rest of the evening finds you well, Richard.” He told him in a disinterested manner that indicated he didn’t really care either way.

Simmons remained standing in the doorway for a long time after Hargrove left, not exactly sure how to process the strange encounter.

*****

It was about a week later that his father told him out of the blue that Malcolm Hargrove would be adopting him. Simmons had stared blankly at the serious expression his father wore, unsure if he had heard him correctly or not.

“Did I stutter, Richard?” His father asked after several moments had passed.

“I… No.” Simmons blinked, swallowing down all of the unprocessed feelings the news was bringing to the surface, “I’m sorry, Father. I heard you.”

The adoption would officially take place when Hargrove arrived back in the region next month, though the papers had already been signed.

His father seemed pleased, as if he had made a great profit at someone else’s expense. He even smiled proudly at his son for the first time ever, and that actually _hurt_.

Simmons’ mother said nothing on the topic, but she would often gaze at Simmons as though she wanted to cry.

Simmons felt much the same way.

*****

A week later and Simmons was standing in front of the rubble of the mansion that his father had always called their _“residence”_ instead of their home, battered and alone.

He was fourteen. His parents had been killed in a pointless war and now he truly had no one.

Relatives he had never known about had swooped down onto the rubble like vultures to see what his parents had left them. They had wanted nothing to do with the shell-shocked boy his parents had left behind, especially after they learned of the adoption plans.

After all, in their view that meant that he was no longer a competitor for anything from the Simmons’ estate.

Simmons was fourteen, had nothing, and was alone.

He couldn’t _breathe_ , he couldn’t even cry. He just wanted to collapse somewhere and never move again. But, he didn’t want to stay _here_ either. He wasn’t sure he wanted the future that his father had planned out for him, one that would surely be waiting if he lingered.

Simmons was fourteen, and he was alone. So, that was why he ran away.

*****

Simmons was huddled in a street corner somewhere, his clothes nothing more than gritty rags over his slender limbs. He was starving and thirsty, having no idea which region he had stumbled upon.

The redhead didn’t even have the energy to ask anyone if they were Red or Blue this week. He was so tired he didn’t even care that he was covered in dirt and sweat. Honestly, he just wanted to sleep and ignore the pain in his belly and give in to the exhaustion seeping all over…

Someone poked him with their foot just as he was drifting off.

“Hey, kid! You okay?” An unfamiliar male voice spoke from somewhere above him.

“He’s fine, North. I mean, he just felt like collapsing here. Obviously.” A testy female voice remarked.

Simmons started, surprised to see two older teenagers with pale blond hair and blue eyes regarding him curiously.

“You hungry?” The boy apparently named North asked him gently.

Simmons’ stomach betrayed him even before his green eyes filled with tears.

*****

Their names were North and South Dakota, and they were twins who had grown up in the area all by themselves. They brought Simmons into their home, taught him how to survive.

For a time, Simmons was almost happy. He was fourteen and, for the first time in his life, he felt like he could maybe pretend like he had a real family.

*****

The next time everything changed for Simmons was actually, in the grand scheme of things, a quiet, uneventful day save for the fact that the region they were living in had changed to Blue overnight.

The changes between the sides were so common in this region that the twins had something of a pool going on regarding it. In fact, this last time South had betted North it would take at least another month for Red to fall. She probably wouldn’t be too happy about having to pay up.

Simmons had gotten some food in return for helping a local mechanic for the day, and he was eager to share it with his two roommates. He was beyond surprised when he bounded up the stairs, all gangly and full of happy energy, to find the apartment door open.

The sparse furnishings they’d had were gone, leaving the suddenly not cramped living space empty beyond South standing in the middle of it. Judging by the guarded expression on her face, she had been waiting for a while for him to come back.

“I told North that you’d left already, so he wouldn’t have any reason to wait.” South informed the younger teen without preamble, “Figured that would be for the best.”

“Wh—wha…?”

But, South cut the redhead off with a wave of her hand, “Listen, we have been wanting to leave and head west for a while now, but we both knew you wouldn’t survive out there. You’ve been holding us back.”

Simmons stared dumbfounded, knowing what she was saying was probably true but really unsure of how to respond to her declaration.

“North just didn’t have the guts to tell you, so it’s up to me to be the bad guy. _Again_.” There was a bitterness to her voice that suggested this wasn’t the first time she had felt this way, “That’s that, I guess.” She moved to walk past him, “Sorry, Simmons, but I have to look out for the two of us first. We’re family.”

As she reached the open door, South turned and regarded him for a moment, her expression cold yet unreadable beneath pale blond hair streaked violet. Suddenly, she was pressing credits into Simmons’ free hand. He was dimly aware that it was probably the money she had been planning on paying her brother regarding the bet.

“Head east to avoid the really heavy fighting.” South advised him as any hint of sentimentality appeared to vanish with that one final gesture on her part.

Then, just like that, she was gone.

In that moment, the redhead realized that the twins hadn’t really seen him as family after all. He couldn’t blame them for it either. It was natural. It made sense. North and South had always had each other. They were each other’s family. That was the way it had always been for the two of them.

There was no doubt that South was on her way to meet her brother, just as there was no doubt that North already thought that Simmons had left them all on his own. So, there wasn’t anything holding the twins back from their dream now—whatever the hell it had been. The lanky boy realized that he didn’t even know what it was that the twins wanted to do. He had never thought to ask and now he’d never know.

Simmons was fifteen. He was alone again. It took him a really long while before he finally left the empty apartment as well.

*****

With not much else to go on, Simmons took South’s last piece of advice and headed east.

It was in a town called Blood Gulch that Simmons met an eccentric soldier in red armor named Sarge. The redhead ended up joining the older man’s crew of misfits, people who had banded together because they had nowhere else to go.

Their meeting had been actually in the middle of a fire fight. Simmons had ducked behind some crates, cursing himself for having dozed off in what apparently had been a military zone. Not that the whole fucking planet wasn’t technically one, but still! His luck seemed to suck majorly hard.

If he was being honest with himself, Simmons had been fairly certain he was going to die right then and there. That is, until he heard…

“Yee-haw! Eat lead, dirtbags!”

The freckled teen hadn’t been expecting to be saved by a shotgun-wielding man, nor had he been expecting said soldier to take one look at Simmons’ scrawny form and tell him to follow him.

But, that was the way things had played out. Truthfully, Simmons was glad for it as the mismatched group Sarge had assembled was truly the closest thing he had ever had to a family. It had taken a long time, but it felt like Simmons had found a group he truly fit in with.

Doc and Donut were both cheerful-if-odd company to have around, and the robot Lopez was dependable even though he didn’t say much that Simmons could actually understand. Tucker took some getting used to, but even Simmons had to laugh at some of his antics.

Over time, their close knit family unit grew with the inclusion of Church, Sheila, and Caboose. Carolina and Tex came later, as did Washington—along with the surprising addition of Tucker’s infant son, Junior. The three former Freelancers in particular were intimidating as all fuck, but Simmons learned a lot from them too.

The redhead became a soldier and was never once left behind again. On occasion, he was even the one to wait for the others to return. But, even when their group separated on occasion, they always seemed to find one another again.

At age twenty-two, Simmons is happy and content. It is the first time in his life he can truly recall ever being so.

*****

The door to his bedroom at the base was closed, which was odd to Simmons since he was fairly certain he had left it open when he had gone on patrol that morning.

He frowned, vaguely remembering how Sarge and Tucker had both mentioned that some new additions would be joining their ranks today. Genetically engineered ones, if he recalled the earlier conversation correctly, though he didn’t know from which genetic category they fell into.

Honestly? All that really mattered to him was that they might be in his room at that very moment, so he had best introduce himself and nip any bedroom-stealing plans in the bud then and there!

Simmons swallowed nervously and opened the door, mouth open to let out a lecture about proper manners to whoever their new recruits might be.

…He really wasn’t expecting to see a chubby, tan skinned young man only a few years older than himself from the looks of things standing in the middle of his room.

The man’s dark eyes regarded Simmons defiantly as he protectively held the hand of a little girl who, on closer inspection, resembled him a lot.

Simmons is twenty-three-years-old when he is first introduced to Dexter Grif.

The first impression could have gone better, especially since Grif called the redhead a _"nerd"_ a second after their meeting with a smirk on his face.

As Simmons indignantly stutters out a _"fat-ass"_ in response, he isn’t quite sure why his breath catches in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My second prequel attempt for “The opposite of war is…”, this time delving more into Simmons’ past. It was definitely interesting writing him as a younger character than he is in the main story _When We Were Soldiers_ , so I hope I did his journey throughout this piece justice! I experimented a bit with my writing style for this one, so I apologize if it is at all off or bizarre to read in any way.
> 
> This is the first of a collection of prequels about the characters before they arrive (or just start arriving) at Chorus. I’ll be calling this collection _Prelude for Losers?_ I also have plans for two other prequel stories not connected to this collection in any way later on as well detailing the “time in the shade” and the cyborg surgery story events that I so often allude to in _WWWS_.
> 
> I can’t promise that the _Prelude for Losers?_ updates are going to be on any sort of a schedule, but I can tell you that whenever I’m able to post the next story for this collection, it is going to be from Doc’s perspective. Then the stories will go from there for different characters! :)
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! :D


	2. Doc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Frank “Doc” DuFresne had his nose to the grindstone, busy studying when he heard a loud commotion down in the makeshift clinic that served as the lower portion of his home.  It was raining in the region known as Valhalla, a heavy downpour that hit the metal roofing of the DuFresne Family Clinic with a deafening crescendo.

He glanced up, brown eyes wincing behind purple eyeglasses at the disturbing noises both outside and inside the building.  Doc frowned slightly at the sound of his parents below, their words drifting upwards along with an unknown, gruff-sounding voice.

If he could hear any talking sounds below through the cacophony brought by the stormy weather outside, then that probably meant that whatever the conversation was about was both dangerous and urgent.  Which, to be honest, wasn’t an entirely uncommon occurrence in a medical clinic given the always present and ominous Red and Blue war.

The dark-haired teen’s suspicions about it being some kind of emergency were confirmed a second later when he heard his father calling for his assistance.  Doc stood up quickly, racing down the stairs.  He couldn’t help but gulp nervously at what he saw on the lower level.

There was a soaked older man, clad in red armor.  Red or blue, it wouldn’t matter to him or his parents.  As medics, they had seen their fair share of different armor colors over the years.  Truthfully, the old soldier’s armor wasn’t particularly interesting.  It was just the type of armor worn by any one of the many soldiers who etched out a living by fighting in the ongoing war that had engulfed the planet for who-knows-how-long.

What _was_ interesting was _who_ had obviously brought the red-armored soldier to the DuFresne Family Clinic.  The older man held the unconscious body of a boy in pink clothes.  The boy, who must have been just slightly younger than Doc given his smaller stature, was deathly pale.  He also had the telltale signs of red liquid blooming underneath his shirt.

Doc noticed movement near the red-armored soldier, moving his bespectacled glance to the figure standing behind the older man.  There he found a dark-skinned teen in teal clothing close to his own age.  The boy was looking around the medical space with nervous energy, obviously unsure of what to make of the current situation.

Doc could relate to the younger man’s anxiety even though, technically, this wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence in the DuFresne Family Clinic.  The brown-haired teen stood at the bottom of the stairs, frozen at the sight of the three strangers until his parents began barking orders at him.

That was when he remembered what he had been called into the clinic for, Doc hurrying to assist the older DuFresne medics as best he could with whatever they needed him to do.

He might not be one of the best medics-in-training, as his parents had no doubt been when they were his age, however Doc would do whatever he could to help someone in need like they would.

*****

The injured boy’s name was Franklin Delano Donut.  He was evidently an orphan that the older man, a traveling soldier named Sarge, had taken under his wing after he had found the dirty blond all by his lonesome trying to survive in one of the more rural regions of the planet.

That wasn’t even the first time that Sarge had evidentially picked up a “stray” either as he had explained to the DuFresne family.  He had gotten the teal-wearing teen named Lavernius Tucker a few months before Donut, after the orphan had been “dumped” on the red-armored man by a rival hippie soldier Sarge simply referred to as Flowers.  Naturally, Sarge claimed he was thrilled to have found a fellow Red soldier in the pink-wearing Donut, as the two of them supposedly balanced out Tucker’s innate “Blueness.”

Evidently, there had been a surprise attack on the caravan that the trio had been traveling with on their way to Valhalla, which was how Donut had gotten into his current medical state.

Unfortunately, such stories were not all that uncommon.  In fact, the DuFresne Family Clinic often encountered groups like Sarge’s as the war continued raging on.  It was one of the many, many reasons that had Doc preferring to follow the path of pacifism like his parents.

At the moment, Doc was sitting with Donut.  The younger boy’s condition had been stabilized and his parents had declared him out of any immediate danger.  Donut was drifting in and out of consciousness, but he had become lucid enough to grip onto Doc’s hand when the other boy had offered to go get him some water a couple of hours ago.

So, Doc remained seated next to him, his hand still held loosely in Donut’s.  Doc didn’t have the heart to pull away from him just then considering how happy Donut had been at the prospect of having someone keep him company, a blush forming on his cheeks at their proximity.

Tucker had just checked in on Donut a few minutes earlier.  The dark-skinned teen had smiled when he saw that the pink-wearing boy seemed to be doing better before going to get the water in Doc’s stead.  Voices were drifting into the room from the clinic hallway, and Doc couldn’t help but make out snippets of the conversation that his parents were currently having with Sarge.

“…Might be staying for a while in Valhalla then.  At least until he’s recovered.” The soldier in red was saying, obviously discussing future plans for his group.

Doc smiled slightly at what Sarge had said before he noticed that Donut was looking up at the expression on his face with a questioning gaze in his brown eyes.

“Oh!” Doc realized that Donut, still not entirely with it given his earlier injury, probably hadn’t overheard the discussion amongst the adults just then, “It looks like we’re going to be neighbors.”

“Oh, that’s awesome!” Donut exclaimed weakly-but-giddily from his bed, “I love decorating new houses!”

Though he was still in pain and heavily medicated due to his injuries, Donut managed a small smile up at Doc.

Doc thought it might have been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

*****

Years passed, and even pacifist medics like Doc’s parents inevitably fell victim to the war.  Both had been killed trying to help injured men and women out on the frontlines.  Sarge, who had remained on pretty good terms with the family of medics and even stayed longer than originally planned in the region, took Doc in following the tragedy.

In his grief, Doc made the decision to truly honor his parents’ memories by dedicating himself both to pacifism and medicine.  Admitably, the young man was a better pacifist than medic.

Doc tried to do what he could to keep the DuFresne Family Clinic operational, but apparently his alternative treatment methods of aloe vera and orange juice seemed to not be quite as readily accepted as the medicine his parents had successfully utilized.

As the DuFresne Family Clinic eventually shut its doors, Sarge’s group moved to a new region called Blood Gulch.  The move was especially hard on Doc since he had lived in Valhalla all his life, but he tried his hardest to make the best of it.  After all, Sarge and the others had no choice but to do so as well.

There were currently five of them living with the older soldier: himself, Donut, and Tucker…along with an awkward young man named Simmons and a robot called Lopez that Sarge had created one day out of spare parts.  The red-armored soldier claimed that he made Lopez on some kind of maniacal whim, which maybe explained why the brown-armored robot spoke a language none of them could understand.

Doc still missed his parents greatly.  The dark-haired man would remember their voices and picture their faces whenever he closed his eyes.  He could see his mother’s warm smile, and hear his father’s thoughtful and tasteful jokes…

However, he didn’t want to appear ungrateful for the kindness and generosity bestowed upon him by Sarge and the others.  After all, they didn’t have to take in a pacifist medic with barely enough training, but they did.  In fact, most would have said Sarge was insane for doing so.  …Although, truthfully, most people said Sarge was insane for a lot of different things.

So, Doc covered up his sadness and grief with a smile whenever he could, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

It was Donut who seemed to see through Doc’s act.  Yes, the slightly younger Donut who had lost so much himself.  Of course the dirty blond would know what it was like to hide pain behind a smiling face.

One day, the pink-clothed boy pulled him aside, touching Doc’s arm gently, “It’s okay to cry, you know.” Donut remarked quietly, brown eyes gentle and knowing.

That had been all it took to get the floodgates open—just some kind words from a friend that Doc probably, most _definitely_ , liked as more-than-just-a-friend.

Doc cried, muttering about how he really didn’t want to appear ungrateful in-between sniffles and gasps for breath, “B—but I really miss them…!”

Donut enveloped him in a tight hug, the act nearly causing Doc’s heart to stop beating as he desperately, gratefully returned the gesture in-between sobs.

“It’s all right, Doc.” Donut told him in a soothing voice, “You just let it all out.  I can smile enough for the both of us, okay?”

When Doc _finally_ was able to pull himself away enough to look into Donut’s surprisingly tear-stained face too, he saw that the dirty blond had a watery smile just then as well.  Just for Doc’s benefit.  Given that, the purple-wearing medic couldn’t help but smile through his tears too.

This time, the smiles that they both gave one another were genuine despite all the tears and mucus streaming down their faces.

Donut would later say there was no shame in sometimes “ugly crying.”  At least so long as no one else saw them do it.

*****

Their “small” family of six exploded with the sudden inclusion of Church, also called Epsilon ( _…long story, that one_ ), into their lives.  The sullen cyborg had brought with him, in one fashion or another, several other new faces too: Caboose and Sheila at first, followed by Carolina and Tex.

It was Tucker who later brought home Washington, despite his Freelancer ties to Church, Carolina, and Tex.  The two of them had also come home with another surprise addition thrown into the mix: Tucker’s infant son, Junior ( _also evidently another long story_ ).

Doc was thrilled to have Junior around.  He had always not-so-secretly enjoyed babysitting, and seeing Donut or one of the others cooing over the glowing teal-lined baby always gave him a reason to smile.

It was a few weeks following that when Dexter Grif and his little sister Kaikaina joined their group’s ranks, the last two members of what had become their makeshift family unit in Blood Gulch.  At least until they eventually reached Chorus, though that too was a story for another time.

Things seemed to be going well for their group even with the crowding that accompanied a suddenly full house.  Their place at Blood Gulch was definitely a lot livelier now, and Doc was usually always busy with one task or another to help keep his mind occupied.

…That was, everything was going well save for the fact that Grif and Simmons seemed to constantly get on one another’s nerves.

The tension between the two was practically palpable.  Doc would have said it was “like a hot knife through butter,” but he did not like to use similes or metaphors with the implication of violence in them if he could avoid doing so.

Doc had turned the corner of the hallway where all of their bedrooms were located just in time to catch the tail-end of yet another argument between Grif and Simmons.

“Fine then!  Stay out and see if I care, fat-ass!”

Simmons’ door had slammed shut in front of Grif’s face with just a glimpse of the blushing, extremely flustered redhead beforehand.

The chubbier man promptly gave the offending door the finger, “I will.  Kiss-ass.”

But the glare that Grif was giving the door seemed to have very little to do with anger from Doc’s perspective if the blush steadily creeping over the tan-skinned man’s body was any indication.  Swallowing, Grif turned and stormed off, his face and neck still red.  As he did so, Doc couldn’t help but notice that the usually lazy man’s face held an expression that was unreadably intense.

There was a whistle from behind Doc, and the brown-haired man spun around to see Donut standing there.  The pink-armored man’s eyes were following Grif’s departure with a knowing glint in them.

“You saw that too, right?” He asked the medic-in-training, sighing dreamily as moved to stand right next to Doc, “Those two clearly _adore_ each other.  Isn’t it romantic?”

“Umm…” Doc glanced over at Simmons’ closed door and the hallway that Grif had disappeared down only moments before.

He wasn’t so sure if “romantic” was the right word for what was going on between the two of them currently, but he did hope that they would figure out a way to resolve whatever-it-was before they drove everyone else crazy.

He glanced over at Donut curiously, “How did you figure out about them?”

Donut hummed appreciatively to the question, nodding his dirty blond head, “Oh, I have a knack for this sort of thing.”

“I—I see.” Doc turned his head away just then, hoping to hide the blush that was forming on his features behind his new pink eyeglass frames.

Did that mean that Donut was already aware of how he felt about him?  Should he just gather up the courage to tell him?

“But things really have gotten pretty hectic around here, huh?” Donut changed the subject a second later, looking oddly contemplative.

Not trusting his voice to speak, Doc merely nodded.  He found he lost his nerve to confess with the sudden change of topic.

“I like having a full house now though.” Donut remarked, “We can all fill each other’s holes!”

“I like having all of us here too.” Doc couldn’t help but respond truthfully to the apparently shared sentiment between the two of them while ignoring the second part of Donut’s statement, nodding his brown-haired head in agreement.

“Even though there’s obviously going to be adjustments that have to be made, I have a feeling it will all work out somehow!” Donut nodded to himself quite vigorously at this statement, “Yeah, I think that everyone’s going to do great!”

Donut smiled, turning to face Doc again.  Doc couldn’t help but believe what the pink-armored soldier said too, especially given the conviction in the other man’s voice.

He nodded in response, smiling too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked Doc’s prequel story! :) I had fun writing his as he is a character I don’t usually write POVs from, though that might be slowly changing in the future. It was really fun writing all of those Docnut moments and sneaking in a bit of Grimmons too. :) Yep, Doc has obviously had a crush on Donut for a REALLY long time in _The opposite of war is… {Sci-Fi AU}_ series and just hasn’t had the courage to confess it yet. But, he will get there eventually in the _When We Were Soldiers_ story, I am sure of it! :D
> 
> By the way, I just saw all of Season 14 of _RvB_ this Sunday, and I really enjoyed it! :) My personal favorite episode was “Head Cannon,” but they were all great. :D Definitely looking forward to seeing whatever the future will hold in Season 15 now! :)
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! :D
> 
> Next up in _Prelude for Losers?_ will be Church’s turn! :)


	3. Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

_The sounds of fighting filled the corridors.  The noise reverberated through the halls, heavy and explosive-filled.  Epsilon stood in the medical bay’s doorway, his head pounding along with the erratic thudding of his heart and lungs._

_He was panicking, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.  The instant that the death knells for this fucked up project of his father’s had begun, Epsilon had felt as though he were drowning and falling all at once.  Like he’d be crushed under the weight of it all too._

_…Which would definitely happen, especially if he didn’t start moving his fucking ass like_ yesterday _._

_That one thought alone compelled his sluggish body into action.  Self-preservation became a motivational factor, one that moved Epsilon’s ass into the hallway._

_The sounds of fighting faded into the distance, getting fewer and farther in-between with each heavy footstep.  Looking around him, Epsilon could see just_ why _that was._

_There were bodies in the hallway, too numerous to count.  Epsilon couldn’t bring himself to look too closely down at any of them because he_ knew _.  He just_ knew _that his genetically engineered batch “siblings” and his naturally born sister’s comrades were among the number of bodies littering the area._

_Somehow, out of all the oddly named Fragments, Epsilon_ knew _that he was the last.  Lucky him, he guessed._

_…A “way to bring an ongoing, who-knows-how-long-it’s-been-going-on pointless war to a swift and decisive end” his_ ass _._

_Dimly, his brain unhelpfully informed him that there was no sign of cyan or black in the quick glances of his surroundings that he allowed himself.  Epsilon knew that Washington had been taken to recovery somewhere outside of the facility after Epsilon had freaked out and nearly killed both of them._

_He felt a pang of guilt about what had happened with Washington, the unfamiliar feeling gnawing in the back of his mind.  Epsilon wanted to say it hadn’t been his fault even though he knew that was bullshit.  The truth was, he had remembered something from Alpha and he’d just_ panicked _.  Washington had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  A victim, like so many people in this world._

_Of course, that incident was the reason why Epsilon had been in the med bay for observation in the first place, and it also happened to coincide with when shit had started to hit the fan._

_In a way, some of them had been lucky.  Washington was still likely alive thanks to that relocation, and the sounds of distant fighting probably meant that Tex and Carolina were too._

_So, there.  Epsilon guessed that there was_ some _glimmer of hope or whatever type of bullshit people liked to talk about to keep them going.  He could understand that, seeing as how he had had his own coping mechanism to keep pushing forward._

_A while ago, Tex had told him to leave the second that he was able to, to not look back.  He fucking didn’t need to be told twice._

Leonard Church blinked open blue eyes to stare up at the merciless stars above.  His head currently hurt from the fucking hangover he was bound to experience well into tomorrow.

That was to be expected considering how Church now spent his days since his escape, wandering from region to region as cheaply as he could.  Whenever he had the credits for it, he’d get plastered at some dive bar.  Naturally.

The cyborg groaned and realized that he must have passed out outside again.  Fucking figured.  Church tried not to puke as he rolled over onto his side on the cold, hard ground.

As far as he was concerned, fucking memories could go fuck themselves.

*****

Church’s self-destructive habits continued for months afterwards.  They probably would have continued even longer if life hadn’t interfered in that fucking nasty habit it tends to have.  One day, he found himself in a bar in some dingy town that he couldn’t even bother to remember the name of.  That’s when _it_ happened, when his vagabond solitary exile lifestyle came to a sudden end.

On that seemingly normal day, Church was sitting at the counter mentally preparing himself to chug back his last remaining credits.  It was always his hope that he could ignore things for yet another day if he stuck to what he considered his normal routine.  Church had been designed to store memory thanks to the neural cybernetics he carried with him, so ignoring shit was sort of hard to do.  Not that _that_ kept him from fucking trying.

He had been just about to order when a group of soldiers or mercs or who-the-fuck-cares had started picking on a tall, blond-haired boy wearing blue.  The bullied victim had evidently glanced at the assholes “f _unny_ ” while cradling a gun in his arms.  Out of the corner of his eye, Church surmised that the poor kid had simply wandered into the dive by accident.  Unlike Church, he doubted the kid had meant to be at the bar at all.

So, basically, the kid was being picked on by a group of power hungry bullies.  Real fucking original.  Church tried his hardest to fucking ignore what was going on, but it was hard when it was only five fucking feet away.

“I do not understand the question.” The blond stated blankly in response to whatever insult one of the bullies had just said about his hypothetical mother.

_That_ only got the assholes angrier.  Naturally, they apparently decided to settle things with their fists.  Real fucking original, these assholes.  Ignorance was apparently not bliss in this situation.

Church really didn’t want any _more_ blood on his shoes or anything else that might kill the pretty good buzz he was just now starting to get.  He reluctantly got up from the counter to say something to the jerks, even though he knew he’d likely make things a whole lot worse before everything was said and done.  He was good at running away and avoidance, not at combat.

Of course, that was right about the time when the younger boy’s gun decided to apparently speak up instead.

“HOSTILES IDENTIFIED.” A surprisingly loud electronic voice spoke from the weapon, “READYING SUPPRESSION FIRE.”

…A few well-aimed warning shots later, and Church and the blond were the only ones still in the now hole-filled bar.  Even the bartender had disappeared through the back at the sight of the shooting, talking gun.

“Oh, hello.” The young man in blue turned around to greet the still gaping cyborg, “Are you my new best friend?”

*****

The young man’s name was Michael J. Caboose.  Like Church, he was a genetically engineered man created for the war.

Caboose didn’t talk a lot about his past beyond that his batch “ _siblings_ ” were comprised of a whole _lot_ of sisters, and that he was apparently left to fend for himself after one too many _“friendly fire”_ accidents.  Although, in retelling, Caboose alternated from saying those friendly fire incidents were just games to being no way his fault whatsoever.

Truthfully, Church had wanted to get rid of Caboose as fast as he could.  Having another person around kind of cramped his “ _wanting to be left the hell alone_ ” lifestyle.  But, for some inexplicable reason, Caboose seemed to oddly _like_ him.

Following the declaration that Church was his best human friend, Caboose insisted on going wherever Church went.  The blond insisted that his sentient weapon, Freckles, was his best gun friend…which, naturally, pissed Church off since he was playing second fiddle to a fucking gun.

At first, Church was vehemently annoyed by the forced company.  But, he didn’t have it in him to really kick the kid to the curb, as much as he was often tempted to do so.  Where the fuck else would a genetically engineered soldier go once they had been forcefully removed from their batch?  It wasn’t like there were a shit ton of options for people like Church and Caboose.

…Church stopped drinking too.  The dark-haired man wasn’t quite sure if the two were related or not, but when he was being pestered by Caboose, he found himself thinking less and less of those days with the project.

*****

Caboose, as it turned out, had a habit of finding rather sentient machines all on his own whenever he would wander off.  Church was amazed at how freaking natural it seemed to come to the blond.  Dumb luck in the truest sense of the term.

This natural habit of Caboose’s was evidently how he had found Freckles.  Church had only heard that story about fifty fucking times during their travels.  _Now_ , apparently, this Caboose talent was going to bite Church in the ass.

“Goddamn it, Caboose!” The cobalt-wearing man couldn’t help but exclaim in exasperation, “I leave you alone for five fucking minutes and—!“

“This is Church.” Caboose ignored Church’s rant to address the rather feminine-looking robot in gunmetal green armor standing next to him, “He yells a lot, but he is nice!”

Church sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to win this fight when Caboose was already fucking introducing him to who was obviously going to become the newest member of their traveling party.  Did Church ever get a say in what was going on in his fucking life?

“Hello.  It’s nice to meet you.” The robot said in a voice that was painfully familiar to the Virtual Intelligence of Project Freelancer, and Church absently wondered if they weren’t somehow related.

“Yeah.  Great.” He rolled his blue eyes, already knowing the drill, “So, what should we call you?”

“My name is Sheila.”

*****

The motely party of four, which consisted of two genetically engineered humans and two Virtual Intelligences, traveled without any real destination in mind for quite a while.  They simply avoided going to regions with a lot of fighting, which suited Church perfectly.  Avoiding shit was exactly what he wanted to do.

Oddly enough, Church found Sheila’s presence to be surprisingly tolerable.  Her polite mannerisms balanced out Caboose’s more annoying tendencies as well as Freckles’ _“shooting”_ ones.

Honestly, he preferred having the others around to drinking himself all alone into a stupor.  It was oddly comforting in a way to focus more on keeping their little group together and safe than reliving old nightmares and regrets.  …Not that Church would have ever told those assholes that out loud.  He had a fucking reputation to uphold, after all.

Eventually, their party made their way to a dump of a town called Blood Gulch.  It was there that they ran into a red-armored soldier named Sarge, an older man who seemed to be in the habit of collecting strays from the ongoing Red and Blue conflict and giving them a home of sorts.

Sarge had some questionable behaviors like sleeping with his shotgun and insisting that “ _Red was better than that damn dirty Blue_!”  There was no doubt in the cyborg’s mind that Sarge was insane, but Church recognized that the older soldier read situations better than he was often given credit for.  Church figured tagging along with someone who actually knew what they were doing would help them stay alive longer, so the four merged into the odd, mismatched family that Sarge had put together.

There was Doc, a medic-in-training whose “ _take no sides_ ” mentality drove Church up the fucking wall more often than not, as did the glasses-wearing pacifist’s tendency to describe orange juice as a cure-all for just about everything.

Next was Donut, a cheerful, exuberant orphan in pink.  Church actually couldn’t bring himself to hate Donut too much, although he definitely wasn’t in love with the dirty-blond’s innuendos and tendency to break into song-and-dance numbers at the drop of a hat.  If anything, Church simply questioned Donut’s judgement since he was often hanging around Doc (who seemed to have a bit of a crush on Donut that the pink-wearing young man seemed oblivious towards) or Caboose.

After Donut there was Simmons, a redheaded suck-up extraordinaire and a nerd of the highest order.  Church found the anxiety-ridden man frustrating, although the two did bond a bit over loving coffee.

Lopez was a robot that Sarge had built out of spare parts.  The brown-armored robot only spoke Spanish, though Lopez and Sheila hit it off really well for some reason that Church couldn’t figure out.  He tried not to think too much about York and Carolina when he saw the two robots huddled closely together.

Finally, there was Tucker.  The dark-skinned man was an asshole who liked to talk big, but he was also okay too.  Church and Tucker ended up getting along fairly well, much to Caboose’s chagrin.  The blond had developed something of a one-sided rivalry with the teal-wearing Tucker.

…Sarge’s group really was like a family, and Church _maybe_ wasn’t as miserable as he liked to claim to be all the time when he was around them.  But, still, being with them made him miss his own family more than he’d care to admit.

*****

His sister and Tex had somehow managed to track Church and the others down in Blood Gulch despite how off the beaten path Sarge liked to traverse.  When they first found the group, both women stood in front of them—intimidating as fuck.

Church almost thought Simmons was going to piss his pants out of fear for being around females, and Tucker seemed to be mentally debating if flirting was worth the obvious physical repercussion.

Carolina in particular looked like she had gone through hell, as if she couldn’t let her guard down even in an obvious safe place.

Honestly. Church wasn’t sure what was more shocking: the fact that Tex and Carolina had even bothered to track him down at all, or the fact that they had obviously done so _together_.  He truthfully would have thought the two women would have ditched each other the second they could.  …That, or they would have killed one another.

“Church.” Carolina’s voice was hoarse when she spoke and he couldn’t help but wonder when the last time she’d even drank something was.

The redhead took a step forward and reached out as though she wanted to touch him, to make sure that her brother was real.  She hesitated, however, awkwardly holding back.  Carolina never was good at the touchy-feely shit.  Must be a family trait.

Truthfully, he was just glad to know she was still _there_.

“ _Screw it._ ” Church thought a second before he was hugging her: “Just shut the fuck up for now, okay?” He said as she returned the gesture not a moment later.

Tex watched the display for a moment, a slight sort-of smile curving her lips upward before she turned to leave.

Church broke away from his surprisingly understanding-in-this-moment older sibling to chase after the black-armored redhead.  It always seemed that one of them had to be in pursuit of the other.  That was just how things had always been between them.

“It wouldn’t kill you to fucking stay for a while, you know.” He said as nonchalantly as he could while struggling for breath next to her.  Goddamn it, Tex was fast when she wanted to be.

“I didn’t want to mess up the reunion.” She joked, and Church realized just how much he had really missed her too.

Before he could even think of how to respond, Tex leaned forward and kissed him.

In that moment, Church couldn’t even tell up from down.  Fucking bitch always knew how to get him to shut up.

*****

Sarge continued to get new additions to his group.  A few months after Tex and Carolina had found them, a new guy named Grif came to Blood Gulch with his little sister, Kaikaina.

The orange-wearing Grif preferred eating and napping to talking about his past, so all Church really knew about the Grif siblings was that they were genetically engineered and had been kicked out of their batch for supposed imperfections.  It seemed that, like Church, Grif had decided that Sarge’s offer could at least help protect his sister.

…Oh, and the only other thing Church knew about Grif was that, for one bullshit reason or another, he and Simmons did _not_ get along.  _At all_.

The two were constantly yelling at each other day in and day out in such a way that Church was starting to get Caboose-level migraines whenever he simply overheard them.  And, yet, there was something _intangible_ about the way they interacted, and in the secretive glances that they both threw to the other when they thought that no one was looking.

Church noticed it one time after Grif had called Simmons a “ _fucking kiss-ass_ ” for the umpteenth time.  The cyborg, narrowing blue eyes in annoyance at their usual antics, watched as Grif and Simmons had stormed off to opposite sides of the barracks.

Simmons, very red-faced and flustered, mumbled a “ _fat-ass_ ” under his breath as he walked past Church.  But, his green eyes were almost feverish when he risked a glance back over his shoulder at Grif.  Grif, meanwhile, had an undefinable, intense stare when he turned slightly to regard Simmons again.

The two quickly acted as though they hadn’t just been caught staring at the other a second later as they went about their business.

Church raised a dark-haired eyebrow at the exchange.  The nerd and lazy-ass weren’t particularly subtle, although they might be moronic enough to not see what he saw.

He felt a headache looming behind his temples.  Shit like this reminded him that people are stupid assholes.

…Although, for some reason, witnessing that exchange between Grif and Simmons had made Church want to find Tex.

The red-haired woman stared at Church like he was the one who was an idiot after he ( _foolishly, in hindsight_ ), told her why he had sought her out in that particular moment.

However, a smirk crossed over Tex’s face a minute later: “Want to put some money down on when they’ll finally get together?”

*****

Washington, as it turned out, _was_ alive.  Church found that out because, somehow, Washington and Tucker had managed to meet after Tucker disappeared during a rather bizarre mission with an alien relic.

What was even more surprising was that, when the two men showed up at the barracks, Tucker had a _baby_ with glowing teal lines in tow.  Church wasn’t sure _how_ to wrap his head around that one, and Tucker kept his mouth tightly shut on the matter.

While Church’s eye would twitch uncontrollably whenever he thought about that whole alien relic situation, he was slightly relieved to see Washington and Tucker show up in Blood Gulch all the same.  …Not that he’d ever fucking saying that out loud, of course.  He had to maintain his aloof prick mantle.

Truthfully, it was mostly just awkward for him to see Washington again.  Not to mention it was pretty fucking awkward for Washington too, but Washington seemed to relax somewhat at Carolina and Tex’s presence in Blood Gulch.

So long as they didn’t discuss the “incident” overly much, Washington and Church seemed to be fine.  Or they were getting there, at least.

Washington was adamant about staying with the group, which was surprising since he had become the type of person who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and didn’t seem to really get the whole “ _being part of a team_ ” thing again.

However, Church suspected Washington’s decision had to do with the fond expression that crossed over the blond’s face whenever he was with Tucker and Junior.

Caboose, Sheila, and Freckles were still there in Blood Gulch too, as was everyone else.  Even Carolina had apparently decided to stay put to ensure that her brother had a somewhat happy life for once.

Thankfully, Grif and Simmons had now become friends with one another, though the tension between them had only skyrocketed to the point where Church was halfway tempted to just lock the two dumbasses in a room together to get things over with.

Church and Tex had broken up more times than he could count while they resided in Blood Gulch, but they were more often than not together.  Truthfully, he had always simply liked having her close by, though the sex was definitely fucking awesome too.

Church still had nightmares from time to time while in Blood Gulch.  But, Tex would comfort him when they were in bed together until he could once more fall asleep, arms wrapped around her gratefully.

Sometimes he’d talk to Carolina about her own nightmares, and Church had come close to daring to breach the subject with Washington too.  Most of the time though, one or more of the others would do something dumb and that would distract him from the past.

He might not say it much at all, or more likely _ever_ , but Church couldn’t be more fucking grateful for the annoying assholes in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have Church’s prequel story! :) Hopefully, it was an enjoyable read that helped shed a bit more light on a few of the characters’ histories in this story-verse.
> 
> I should note that not every character is going to be getting a prequel story of their own, as a lot of them are covered in other individual’s prequels (such as Caboose, Freckles, and Sheila in this one). That’s the only way I’d be able to finish the prequels here considering that the cast is quite huge! XD Still, I hope that I will give everyone, even the characters that don’t get their own personal prequel story, a bit of attention in the prequels to make up for that.
> 
> Next up in _Prelude for Losers?_ will be Washington and Tucker’s turn. Yep, they’ll be featured in their own story together! :D
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this! :)


	4. Washington

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

He hadn’t always gone by _Washington_. In fact, when Washington was _“born,”_ he had simply been given the name _David_ because it was quick and easy to remember. It was the type of simple name often used in the genetically engineered batch facility. After all, _“simple and easy to use”_ was important when entering in all of the various points of data that went with shuffling around tank-born humans designed to fight in someone else’s stupid, pointless war.

As it was, Washington never had much lingering attachment or sentiment towards the name David. He couldn’t even recall his _actual_ last name. In all honesty, he wasn’t entirely sure he ever had one. If he had a surname, it had been kept extremely private. Even from himself.

The truth was, his name hadn’t originally mattered in the grand scheme of things. His name dropped in importance once he was old enough to hold a gun and had been sent out onto the frontlines. He’d been made to wage war on others who were either created to do battle just like him, or on the equally poor souls who just happened by circumstance to be born into a world where there was constant fighting.

Honestly, he barely even paid attention to what color he was fighting for or against on any given day. He hardly cared for the name of whatever region he was transferred to. The list of things Washington didn’t care about back then was quite long.

It wasn’t that he was even a good soldier ether. Truthfully, he wasn’t one of the best fighters of his batch. Not by a long shot. But, that was okay in his mind. Most of the _“best”_ didn’t last too long, what with constantly being sent over and over again to the frontlines. They were also forced to undertake the more dangerous infiltration missions thanks to their stellar marks. No, Washington didn’t care about being the best then either.

He had always been a survivor. That’s what kept Washington, what kept _David_ , still breathing at the time. He made sure he got out of tricky, treacherous situations alive. He had a habit of ensuring that those around him did too.

Perhaps those traits were what had caused a genetically engineered no-name such as himself to catch the eye of a secret military project. Although, that could have also been due to Freelancer going through a bit of a recruitment drive at the time. David never did end up asking the _“Why me?”_ question, so he never figured out why the hell he had been chosen. Not that it very much mattered in the long run.

The project was one with no particular loyalty to either Red or Blue. It was an independent faction all its own, and its ultimate goal was really quite simple: to put a stop to the fighting that had swallowed the world whole for who-knew-how-long.

David had found it to be an admirable goal, one that meant there would be no more people simply existing for fighting and killing. No more people created for it like he had been. Admittedly, it had not taken a long time to consider his options when Freelancer approached him.

That very day, David made his first real decision ever in his life. He defected from his unit and whatever color of the moment that they had been fighting for at the time to join a project with no real set region allegiance. Freelancer operated out in the open but also under hushed veils of secrecy. He didn’t care to give it much thought.

Upon joining Freelancer, David was given another task, one that involved his second choice ever: he got to choose his very own name for use in the program. Of course, it was from a prepared list of locations from a place no one remembered anymore. But, still, it was his to pick and he wore _Washington_ proudly, like a badge of honor.

Things had gone well following his inclusion into the Freelancer ranks. For the first time since his _“birth,”_ he made decisions for himself. The concept of having more freedom on the battlefield to do what he wanted was thrilling. He still had orders, yes, but he was able to choose now how he enacted them.

Washington actually came to know and care for his comrades too, all of them ultimately having joined Freelancer with the same goal. For the first time that he could recall, the blond was having genuine _conversations_ with people who actually wanted his input, who cared about what he felt and thought, who smiled at him and patted his back. He felt a sense of belonging.

He barely noticed, so caught up in this new life of his, how _“ending the war”_ was such an abstract notion. He didn’t see how they were sent to places where the fighting was most prominent, and how they would tip the scales in one way or the other before scurrying off to the next warzone.

If he had been paying more attention, perhaps he would have seen the actual truth just as Connie had. Freelancer wasn’t doing a damn thing to actually stop the fighting. They had only become a hidden faction of it, manipulating events in whatever way the Director deemed necessary for his weapons research.

But, Washington hadn’t noticed, and Connie was later killed as a traitor while trying to tell them all the truth. Then it became too late to do anything.

The project that Washington had put his everything into went up in flames all around him. His cybernetic partner, Epsilon, somehow suffered some kind of a mental breakdown during what was supposed to be their first real mission together. He had tried killing himself while they were out in the field. Washington had been gravely injured himself trying to stop him.

Washington hadn’t been aware, though he probably should have been, that Epsilon and the other cyborgs had been a special _“tank-born”_ batch designed solely for Freelancer experiments. They had been created for one purpose just like he had been, and they had suffered immensely for it. Epsilon remembered _everything_ that the Director had tried to make them forget using their neural implants.

…In hindsight, it had been those very injuries that Washington sustained that had probably saved his life. After all, it was right after he had been hurt that everything came to a bloody, violent end. He had been in recovery when the fighting started, had been thrown from his hospital bed by an explosion that had blissfully knocked him out during the slaughter that followed.

When he had finally, _finally_ awoken, it had been to the blindingly bright lights of yet another hospital room, this one wholly unfamiliar to him.

Apparently, he had been found amidst the wreckage of Freelancer’s collapse and brought to wherever _there_ was. He was never entirely sure what kind of facility he had been brought to. No one wore any insignia to indicate whether or not they were currently in a Red or Blue zone, though the place had both a military and research air about it.

In fact, from the dispassionate and clinical way all of the people acted who interacted with him, Washington was sorely reminded of his time growing up in the batch facility that had _“birthed”_ and initially trained him. After all, centers like that were not associated with any specific side either since they were more concerned with who paid the most for their products.

All he could really get from those around him in the unfamiliar facility was that he was simply going to be there until he had recovered entirely. As for why that was, or what they wanted with him, no one would or could say.

At the time, Washington didn’t particularly mind given everything that had happened. He was still trying to process too many things all at once and failing miserably.

…Everyone he had ever cared about was most likely dead, buried beneath rubble and ash. Ending the war had been a lie. Who knew if Freelancer’s actions had actually made things in an already hopeless situation _worse_?

It had been the first time that he had ever decided something for himself, and he had ruined everything immensely. In more ways than he could ever hope to repair.

…For once, Washington was not grateful that he had some preternatural talent for survival.

The only thing that helped him escape from his overwhelming, all-encompassing guilt was being allowed to explore the facility once he was deemed well-enough to do so. Naturally, there were areas that he could not gain access to, but an injured man too wrapped up in his own thoughts was not deemed a flight risk from a building with state-of-the-art security and guards around every corner.

He explored at a shuffling, meandering pace. Usually, he barely even registered just where he was going until he reached an area he couldn’t get through or a guard told him to get lost. At first, escape or anything of the sort was far from his troubled mind.

That was, until one day when he wandered from the hospital room for an exceptionally long time. The voices and the guilt threatened to swallow him whole if he didn’t keep moving, keep moving…

Washington ended up in a brightly lit hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. It was rather unremarkable, save for the sheet of glass that extended a good long ways down the right side of it. He blinked gray eyes, momentarily caught off-guard by the sight as he stepped closer just to see if he could catch a glimpse of his harried, scarred form in its surface…

_“Hey, asshole!”_

Only it wasn’t _his_ face that he saw staring defiantly back at him, but the brown eyes and dark-skinned features of a person who appeared to be a few years younger than himself. Washington started at the obvious _venom_ in the man’s voice, blinking once more as his thoughts threatened to spiral out of control again.

_“What the fuck’s wrong with you?”_ The younger man continued, clutching what appeared to be a bundle of grey blankets protectively towards his chest, _“Did you come here to gawk at the man who had a baby too?”_

*****

The man in the glass cell, as Washington quickly realized it to be, was named Lavernius Tucker. He was an orphan due to the war and, ever since, had been going from region to region as a soldier with others who were stuck in similar situations.

_“Well, until I fucking wound up in here that is.”_ Tucker told Washington bitterly, though there was a grateful look in his brown eyes as if _finally_ being able to talk to someone about all of this had been enough to put him in a better mood.

The baby in the younger man’s arms squirmed a little. A small dark arm poked out from amidst the bundle of blankets, a glowing teal line visible on the skin. Washington watched with marked interest as Tucker gently cooed at the small infant. The blond worried that he was interrupting some important bonding moment, but he didn’t want to leave all the same. He was quite fascinated by what he was witnessing given how foreign a sight given his past it was.

After all, his experiences with babies in general were quite limited. His batch facility deemed it better for their genetically engineered soldiers to be _“birthed”_ as older children and not infants, so this was his first time truly ever seeing one. Besides, Tucker’s story…

“What exactly happened?” Washington heard himself ask as Tucker once again peeled his eyes away from the infant, full name: Lavernius Tucker Junior, to look up at Washington as if in surprise that the older man was still there.

_“Oh, the usual bullshit that happens during the war.”_ Tucker replied as he shrugged cockily in an attempt to play things off, _“I was out scouting some ruins when I fell into this huge ass hole and bam! I was face-to-face with an alien relic or some shit.”_

Washington was fairly certain there had to be more to the story (what was Tucker scouting for, for instance?), but he didn’t want to interrupt as the dark-skinned man continued.

_“So, I did what any guy would do in my situation. I touched it.”_

Washington raised an eyebrow before responding, “You touched an alien relic without knowing anything about it.” He repeated blankly.

_“Wouldn’t you?”_ Tucker challenged back, not missing a beat.

Washington opened his mouth to say no, but suddenly stopped himself before the word could escape his lips. Curiosity _had_ gotten the better of him in some instances, especially when it came to trying out new weaponry and the like in the past. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone.

Tucker grinned triumphantly at the former Freelancer’s obvious hesitation, _“That’s what I thought!”_

Washington couldn’t help but roll his eyes, not even bothering with a vocal reply.

_“But, thanks to that, now I can do_ this _!”_

Carefully balancing the baby in the cradle of his right arm, Tucker reached down with his free hand and unclasped what appeared to be some kind of hilt from his belt. In the next instant, a brilliant flash of light filled the space as a sword made out of energy flared to life.

Junior cooed at the sight, reaching tiny fingers towards the suddenly materialized object.

Tucker smiled down at him, _“No way. Not until you’re way older, kiddo.”_ He said gently before beaming over at Washington, _“Pretty fucking amazing, yeah? And it only works for me! Not that it’s been any help in getting through this fucked up space glass or whatever this place is made out of.”_

“An alien relic imprinted on you.” Washington said with a tone that held a note of awe. He had heard of such things happening before, and a lot of Freelancer tech had come from alien ruins, but this was the first time he had actually seen an imprinted person. He frowned in thought as Tucker deactivated the sword, “That still doesn’t explain how you ended up here.” He finally noted, eyes glancing at the cell.

_“I was getting to that.”_ Tucker said, rolling his eyes in response, _“Just chill, dude.”_ He rocked Junior in his arms before his eyes narrowed considerably, _“Once I figured out how to get out of the fucking ruins, I was grabbed by these assholes and locked up here. They’ve run all sorts of bullshit tests, but not even once could they get it up without me. Bow-chicka-bow-wow!”_

Whoever-these-people-were they were keeping Tucker here because they were also interested in alien tech. He wondered if that wasn’t the reason why they had pulled him out of the mess that had been left of Project Freelancer as well.

_“The last_ experiment _they ran?”_ Tucker’s voice had gone oddly quiet just then, and he shuddered before he looked down at Junior again and smiled, _“It landed me with this guy here.”_

Washington stared down at the baby. So, that explained Junior’s odd markings in a way. If he had been created using at least some alien technology…

“I’ve never heard of a genetically engineered human being birthed through pregnancy before.” Washington muttered, more to himself than to Tucker.

Genetically engineered people were normally created in tanks such as he was, and kept in there until they were usually considered old enough to be of viable service. He had heard of some cases where a baby might be taken out of a tank early for specific purposes, but it was generally frowned upon by the general public to do so.

_“Yeah, well, let’s just say the experience was a shitty one and leave it at that.”_ Tucker told him, _“It was painful as all fuck, and they had me chained to a bed for_ months _.”_

“I’m sorry.” Washington spoke quietly, surprised at the sincerity in his voice.

Tucker’s frown faded from his features as he looked down at Junior once again and beamed, _“It wasn’t_ all _bad, though. After all, because of that I have this little guy now, and he’s easily the best fucking thing I’ve ever had in my life.”_

Washington smiled slightly, “I’m…glad then, Tucker.”

He was, truly. However, the thought of Tucker and his son staying here as research pawns still caused his stomach to lurch.

_“I do miss the guys though.”_ Tucker remarked quietly himself a moment later, a contemplative look on his face, _“They might have been a bunch of assholes a lot of the time, but they’re family.”_

And, because Tucker was as desperate for human contact and companionship as Washington was for his lingering, troubling thoughts and memories to fade, he told the former Freelancer all about them.

Tucker talked about Sarge, who was like the grumpy father of the group that no one had ever known they wanted but who kept everyone together all the same. He talked of cheerful Donut and his horrible tendency to say weird shit all the time. He spoke of the often inept but always trying Doc, and about the nerdy and socially awkward Simmons.

…Of Church, who everyone pretty much considered the biggest asshole of the bunch but who was pretty okay too. Washington frowned at that particular part of the story because the name sounded familiar, but it _couldn’t_ be who he was thinking of. Tucker also talked about Caboose, who tended to follow everyone around like a lost puppy and who also just so happened to have a talking gun named Freckles that you did not want to get on the wrong side of. He even described two robots named Lopez and Sheila as well.

Washington stared, transfixed at the fond smile on Tucker’s face as he spoke all about his friends, the ones he had called his _family_. He didn’t even register when the younger man finally stopped talking a long while later, regarding Washington rather expectantly.

_“So…”_ Tucker said when it became apparent that Washington wasn’t going to speak, _“What about you?”_

“Me?” Washington blinked.

_“Yeah, dude._ You _.”_ Tucker replied as he shifted his hold on Junior, _“What’s your story?”_

“It’s…” Washington hesitated, swallowing down a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, “Complicated, Tucker.”

Tucker raised a dark eyebrow, _“More than all of this?”_ He questioned incredulously, gesturing to what was surrounding them.

“I…” Washington trailed off, his voice refusing to work properly.

He frowned in frustration. He didn’t want to think on it. Not right now. Everything was still too fresh, too painful. He’d drown if he explained too much. If what he revealed were to somehow cause this inexplicable lifeline to fade away…

There was a momentary flash of understanding in Tucker’s eyes as he smiled at Washington again, _“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to spill you guts to me all at once.”_

“Really?” Now it was Washington’s turn to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

_“Yeah,”_ Tucker nodded in response, _“Besides, it’s not like we don’t have all the fucking time in the world, right?”_

That might be true enough, but the thought of Tucker and Junior being stuck here…

_“Holy shit, dude! I think he likes you!”_

Tucker’s exclamation had Washington glance down into Junior’s small, teal-lined face. The infant was smiling gummily up at him from within his sea of blankets, a tiny hand touching the thick, protected glass between them.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Washington reached out and touched the glass himself. His much larger, bandaged hand overshadowed the smaller one. Did people normally start off so tiny? Washington couldn’t have prevented the shaky smile that crossed his lips even if he had wanted to do so.

_“See?”_ Tucker told him, his smile even more wide and bright, _“Even Junior’s glad you’re here!”_

Washington looked up into Tucker’s warm, brown eyes then and one singular thought floated to the surface of his mind. He was going to get the two of them out of there. No matter what.

*****

Thanks to the guards’ complacency in allowing an injured man to walk through large portions of the facility unattended, getting everything that he needed to help facilitate the breakout wasn’t difficult.

Washington was technically still recovering, but he had been created specifically to be a soldier. Plus, he had trained in Freelancer with some of the best stealth experts there were. Once he was able to walk again, it had been a grave mistake on this facility’s end to allow him the level of mobility they had. He was going to use that to his advantage now.

The gun Washington held was one he had procured from a lone guard in the stairwell leading up to Tucker and Junior’s cell. He had done his best to hide the unconscious body, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the guard was uncovered. Washington had to be fast. He had to survive, like all of those times previously in his life.

The former Freelancer moved quickly, relying on the lock-picking techniques he had learned from York to open the door to the cell. Tucker was asleep on his cot when Washington stepped inside, Junior in a crib by his side.

Washington stepped over to the other man gently and cautiously, aware that they only had a few moments at best. “Tucker, wake up!” He hissed out through his mouth as he shook the sleeping figure.

The teal-wearing man groaned drowsily and groggily opened his eyes, widening them a split-second later as his brain processed just who it was standing over him, “What the…? _Wash_?”

Washington, thankfully, did not have the time to process the nickname he had just been given, “Get moving, Tucker.” He told him in a rather urgent whisper, “We’re leaving. Now.”

Tucker blinked only once more before an enormous grin broke out over his face, “Fuck yeah!”

*****

Somehow, against all rhyme and reason that Washington could think of, their escape attempt actually went off without a hitch.

The trio not only managed to get away from the facility, which Tucker was oh-so-helpfully quick to describe as _“out in the ass end of the middle of fucking nowhere,”_ but they also disappeared successfully. Part of that was no doubt due to hiding in a war-torn region where everyone was too busy trying to stay alive themselves to notice in their midst the addition of two men with a baby.

From there, it had been easy enough to travel along with other refugees, heading towards a town where the fighting wasn’t quite so prominent.

Washington was secretly thrilled at the opportunities he had now to hold little Junior, though perhaps it wasn’t quite so secret given the smiles that Tucker flashed his way whenever he did so. He was ecstatic to be able to feel the same sunlight on his skin as Junior and his father as well.

The former Freelancer ended up healing at a surprisingly quick rate once things had quieted down since Tucker insisted that he take it easy whenever it was possible.

Still, he had trouble sleeping most nights. Tucker was always close by to gently wake him up whenever he was in the throes of a particularly bad nightmare. The other man would hold his hand comfortingly, allowing Washington to catch his breath. Sometimes, he’d even explain about his dream or memory if he desired, although he still often preferred to keep his demons hidden.

He also noticed that he took a hold of Tucker’s hand more often than not whenever they were in a crowd, but Tucker never complained. He just focused on looking for familiar people and settings.

They eventually managed to track down Tucker’s oddball family in a place called Blood Gulch. Washington was quite shocked that there was no debate, only an expectation that he would be staying with them along with Tucker and Junior.

Perhaps even more shocking was the sight of Epsilon, Carolina, and Tex among them. The sight of Epsilon startled Washington the most as it turned out he was actually the Church that Tucker had told him stories about.

Carolina and Tex both shared comradely looks with Washington that were both painful and welcoming all at once. After awkwardly avoiding one another for a time, he and Epsilon, or Church as Washington reminded himself to now call him, managed to make small talk at Tucker’s vehement insistence.

All of it pulled at old wounds at first, but Washington found those slowly healing over time the more he interacted with the colorful array of soldiers that now surrounded him. He was grateful for small favors, was relieved that others had managed to survive Freelancer too even if it was hardly unscathed.

Tucker’s makeshift family and their ready acceptance of Washington into their midst became an important, vital component to his life. He enjoyed watching Tucker get the chance to interact with all of them again, and even found that he liked getting dragged into their antics more than he would ever care to admit.

He _enjoyed_ being there with all of them, especially Tucker and Junior.

*****

“No, no, no! That is not educational at all, Grif!” The redhead sitting at the table next to Junior exclaimed in exasperation as the young toddler happily drew on a piece of paper with crayons, his green eyes narrowed towards an orange-armored man also at the table.

“Simmons, Simmons…” Grif, one of the newest members of Sarge’s family, said as he shook his dark head of hair in pity, “Not every game he plays has to be educational.”

Simmons bristled as he glared at the tan-skinned man sitting across from him and Junior, “At this developmental age, it’s extremely important to—!”

“If we teach him some card tricks, that would involve math. Right?” Grif cut the maroon-wearing man off, the smirk evident in his tone.

“What?!?” Simmons shrieked indignantly at the suggestion, causing Grif to clap his hands over his ears and wink conspiratorially over at the little boy who was now smiling and very much copying his motion.

It seemed that Dexter Grif and his younger sister, Kaikaina, were certainly fitting in quite well now with Sarge’s makeshift family unit. Washington watched as the surprisingly domestic scene before him continued to play out.

Junior was, as a way of an apology to Simmons for “siding” with Grif earlier, showing the lanky man the picture he had drawn. …Had Washington been aware that it was a stick figure drawing of himself and Tucker holding hands, he would have turned beet red.

Simmons was currently in the process of praising the boy’s artistic skills, trying not to blush too much at the realization of what the picture was about, while Grif watched the two of them interacting with an oddly fond, sort-of smile on his face.

Washington couldn’t help but wonder when the two of them would just confess already before shaking his head to remind himself that he needed to be thinking about the next guard watch duty. He’d be relieving Carolina soon.

“Those two would make good parents together some day, huh?” Tucker noted as he sat down next to Washington on the beat-up sofa, an obvious look of joy and pride on his face as he observed his son clearly enjoying himself.

Washington nodded his head slightly in agreement, taking in the peaceful atmosphere all around them despite the bickering still coming from the pair in the kitchen. No one was actually participating in real fighting today, a rare experience indeed.

The situation was _pleasant_ , even if Washington was still not quite used to it yet.

“I’m just glad the two of you get to have moments like this.” He heard himself saying out loud before his brain could clamp down on that particular train of thought.

Washington felt his face start to heat up as he risked a glance over at Tucker, who was staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief. Then, at length, the wide grin that Washington so loved seeing suddenly suffused the dark-skinned man’s features.

“Thanks, Wash. You know, it’s really good to see this side of you too.”

If both he and Tucker shared a rather fond look between the two of them just then, neither chose to comment on it. For the first time in a long, long while…Washington was grateful that his only marketable skill happened to be surviving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have Washington’s (and Tucker’s!) prequel story! :D Gah, I think this might actually be the longest one yet! These prequel stories are quite lengthy endeavors, which is probably why it takes me longer to get them out. XD
> 
> At any rate, the next _Prelude for Losers?_ will be Grif’s story! Haha, I can’t tell yet if I will be diving right into that one next or getting to the next chapter of _When We Were Soldiers_ first, but I suppose we will just see what happens later on down the road.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this! :)


	5. Grif

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

The drab, unadorned room they were standing in was created solely to be an efficient source of shelter and housing. Nothing more. It was cold. The room lacked any of the comforts one expected from a home. As such, its inhabitants held no lingering nostalgic sense of attachment to the space.

Behind them in the nondescript room, Dexter and Kaikaina Grif heard a shuffling of feet. Grif turned his head slightly to the side to see that their various batch siblings were being ushered out. For the first time in a long while, the older Grif wished that he was joining them.

After all, it was never a good sign when their “creators” singled someone out. It was especially bad that it was just the two Grif siblings.

Grif glanced down at Kai. She was far younger than he was, released from her tank earlier than most due to some unforeseen malfunction. Nothing was ever described as a _“medical emergency”_ in the genetically engineered creation facility, thus Kai’s early removal had only been viewed as a countermeasure against their owners potentially losing a future profit.

As a result, Grif had always felt rather protective and close to the girl. This was also because Kai had actively chosen to latch onto him the very second that she had been allowed to visit with the other tank-born children, the only one of his batch siblings to do so.

He could almost pretend they were “normal” siblings with their matching tan skin, dark hair, and brown eyes. That thought alone kept him grounded and gave him an actual _purpose_ , even as the asshole grownups who created their batch began preparing them all for an incredibly shitty future life.

The idea of _Kai_ one day going into that sort of situation made Grif’s stomach lurch even more than his own eventual involvement in it did. It was no wonder he stress ate every chance he got. Surprisingly, he had become an expert at sneaking into the cafeteria when no one was watching.

Briefly, Grif wondered if that particular skill of his wasn’t the reason why they had been held back. However, it made no sense to include Kai in his punishment, unless they had also found out that he sometimes snuck her snacks too. Maybe the jerks considered her guilty by association.

But no, judging by the way the two scientists before them were glancing at datapads and mumbling under their breaths, this evidently had nothing at all to do with his pilfering of rations.

Grif only picked up a few slivers of the discussion their creators were having amongst themselves. Occasionally they’d glance his or Kai’s way to punctuate on a particular point, making it obvious something was up with the siblings.

_“Defective”_ was a word that popped up with the scientists a lot, often along with _“overweight”_ followed by a pointed finger in his direction and _“colorblind”_ when the focus was on Kai. After a few minutes of conversation, the two grownups looked at one another as if reaching some sort of unanimous agreement.

That was when the topic changed to _“cutting our loses”_ before _bam!_ Suddenly, for the first time ever in their lives, Grif and Kai both found themselves outside of the facility grounds with nothing but the drab clothes on their backs.

Grif could only blink at the sheer rush of it all. His whole life, he had dreamt of leaving that shithole with Kai. He had imagined the Grif siblings finally being able to fucking choose what they wanted to do for themselves. Now, here they were and he was unsure of what to do. Grif was suddenly scared shitless of a world he actually realized he knew very little about.

The panicking part of his brain wanted to slam his fists on the cruel, unyielding metal gate of the batch facility behind them. He wanted to scream that they had made a mistake until his throat was raw and his lungs gasped for air. If not for him, then for Kai at least. How the hell could he take care of her when he had no fucking clue how to take care of himself?

The other part of his brain recognized that screaming would be fucking useless, and a dumb thing to do besides with the energy coursing through the gate and wall before them. Grif also knew what kind of life would exist for them behind those walls given what their batch had been created for, and he didn’t want any fucking part of it.

“What…what do we do now?” Kai whimpered next to him, eyes wide as her normally cheerful and carefree tone came across as absolutely terrified instead.

Having Kai there, probably even more scared and upset than he was at the moment, helped to calm Grif down. He had to be strong right now. For his sister’s sake, if nothing else.

“I don’t know.” He admitted shakily a few seconds later before he reached over to grab tightly onto her hand with his own, “But we should get moving.”

There was a town in the far off distance. If nothing else, Grif figured that making it there safely was a good first goal.

Kai nodded her dark head of hair, giving his hand as tight a squeeze as her smaller fingers would allow.

*****

Months later, the two siblings wandered the streets of a region they hadn’t even bothered learning the name of. Not that it really mattered anyways. Inevitably, it would only be a matter of weeks before the fighting between the Reds and the Blues would engulf this area too. No place was safe from the war. Traversing in such a manner seemed to be the general pattern of their life now.

They had long since ditched their uniforms from the batch facility since people had looked at them funny when they had been wearing them, sometimes even refusing to interact as a result. All that had done was reinforce Grif’s belief that most people were assholes.

The Grif siblings would travel to an area where the fighting was relatively light for the moment and Grif would do some odd jobs here and there to get them enough money for food and clothing. Then, when the never-ending war became too heavy to ignore in that particular region, the siblings would quickly leave.

It wasn’t exactly what one would call an _“easy”_ or _“ideal”_ life by any stretch of the imagination, but it was _theirs_.

If he was completely honest with himself, Grif would sometimes watch his little sister try to make do and put on a brave face only to feel a wave of guilt wash over him. Kai deserved so much _more_ than what her life had been so far, and he felt like he was a horrible older brother for being unable to provide it.

He _knew_ what his body was capable of. Maybe if he just…

“You guys wouldn’t happen to be looking for a place to stay, would you?”

Grif started at the unfamiliar voice that had just spoken to them, his hand tightening a protective margin around Kai’s own as they spun around to see who it was who had asked the question.

Two brunettes leaned against the side of a rundown and abandoned building that looked as if it had once been a shop of some kind. One of the girls was very tall and looked to be about Grif’s age, while the other one was dressed entirely in brown clothing and appeared to be somewhat older.

The younger of the two raised her hand in what was meant to be a friendly wave, “Hey! I’m Cass, and this is Connie.”

“We happen to know of a place you can go,” Connie, who Grif now knew was the one who had spoken up earlier, said as she nodded her head slightly in way of greeting, “If you’re interested.”

*****

The _“place”_ that Connie spoke of was actually more of a concept called the Insurrection, a group comprised of young people from various walks of life who had nowhere else to go. The way they interacted together felt more like an extended family, something that both Kai and Grif were unfamiliar with. Despite some mutual distrust on both sides at first, it wasn’t long before the Grif siblings were accepted into the fold.

It no doubt helped speed things along that Connie was the one who had vouched for them. Connie was already well-known among their ranks for picking up strays. In fact, she had found Cass just a few months before, after the girl’s parents had thrown her out because she was _“no longer their son”_ or whatever bullshit reason they had said at the time. Cass didn’t like to talk about it, so no one pried. The brown-wearing Connie had a pretty strong, unbreakable bond with the Insurrection’s leader too, so he usually backed her decisions.

The Insurrection had a headquarters of sorts, and they participated in fighting for either the Reds or the Blues. It just depended on whatever side their region was currently on in any given moment. Grif was happy to help out, if only for the roof it provided over Kai’s head. Admittedly, the added security of the base was also a great source of comfort to him. So long as he pulled his weight, they were provided with food to eat and clean bedding too. Everyone had their own lives to focus on, no one in the Insurrection ever judged the siblings for being genetically engineered.

Grif and Cass dated for a while since the girl was nice and always willing to look after Kai when Grif went out on missions, but ultimately decided that they were better off as friends. She still offered to help him with his _“release”_ whenever Grif needed it, which was a welcome piece of news as that had steadily started becoming more of an issue for him as his body developed.

…Grif still worried about the future, and what would happen when Kai started experiencing the need for _“release”_ that all of their particular genetically engineered batch developed too.

Beyond Cass and Connie, the one other person in the Insurrection who Grif most got along with was an older boy named Terrence. Terrence went by the nickname Sharkface due to the decorative touches he had put on his helmet, and he usually always had a kind word or a friendly pat on the head for Kai when they passed in the halls. The brown-haired teenager also looked out for Grif like he was his own little brother when they were out on missions together. He even taught Grif how to drive transports and how to properly shoot a gun.

It was a good life. Way better than either of the ones that the two siblings had known before. But, even still, Grif was not an idiot. He could tell that behind the smiles and laughter, there was stuff going on in the Insurrection that the others weren’t yet willing to tell the newcomers in their midst. It was obvious there was decidedly heavy stuff going on behind closed doors and in hushed whispers. Stuff that he’d rather not know anything about, and that he definitely didn’t want Kai to get involved with.

Grif wasn’t the only one who noticed either. Cass had figured it out as well. It was evident in the frown on her face when she came to an area of the base they weren’t allowed in. The brunette’s frown only ever deepened with the passage of time. Eventually, she had enough and decided to leave.

“Maybe you guys should do the same.” Cass suggested in a quiet aside to Grif after she had finished hugging Kai goodbye.

But, Grif didn’t really know of anywhere else they could go, and he wasn’t yet as brave as Cass was. It terrified him to think of heading off into a violent and dangerous world without really knowing what was going on, so he simply said nothing in response.

…It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Grif was given the final push he needed to leave. He had been sitting in the kitchen area of the Insurrection’s base, hands still shaking following a particularly nasty firefight. He didn’t want to see Kai until they had stopped.

“Rough mission?” Connie asked him, quietly slipping into the chair across from his own.

“You can fucking say that again.” Grif muttered, eyes glued to his trembling fingers that rested on the table’s surface.

The brunette said nothing for a long while, contemplating his features silently. At length, she looked towards the door as if seeing if anyone would come in before leaning forward. Her voice was a mere whisper when she spoke next, “Soon, things are about to get far more dangerous around here, Grif.” She informed him, “I think it’s time that you took Kai and left, like Cass did.”

He frowned at the intensity in her tone, “But…”

“ _Anything_ will be better than having Kai around for what is going to happen next.” Connie told him succinctly, no room for argument in her voice, “Promise me, Grif.”

Because she sounded so sincere and desperate, because protecting Kai was all he had ever wanted to do, Grif nodded.

Connie left the kitchen as if the conversation had never even happened. In the middle of the night, Grif snuck out with Kai firmly in tow.

*****

Their travels took them to a region called Blood Gulch.

It was there that, through an unexpected turn of events that involved a battle breaking out suddenly and their ducking for cover behind a fruit stand, Kai and Grif ran into an odd, red-armored soldier named Sarge.

Grif was beyond certain that Sarge was verifiably crazy. The older man seemed not to be thrilled with Grif for some reason, but when he had looked over the scared and exhausted siblings he had let out a resigned sigh and offered to let them join his own mismatched family.

…Because Sarge _had_ helped save Kai’s life, and he saw how the younger girl’s brown eyes lit up at the mention of the word _“family”_ again, Grif agreed to give it a try.

As it turned out, _“mismatched”_ was definitely the right word for Sarge’s family. The older man’s group consisted of war orphans, robots, and genetically engineered people like himself and Kai. There were even three _“badass”_ super soldiers from some bizarre program called Freelancer. Fuck, there was even a _baby_ in their midst too! Kai instantly took a firm liking to the kid, and even insisted on helping to babysit.

Despite his initial hesitation and reluctance to get caught up in such a familial unit again, Grif found himself warming up to them almost as quickly as Kai did. Unlike the Insurrection, there were no secrets to be found amongst Sarge’s group. They were just a bunch of assholes banding together to try and survive. He could relate to that.

Grif got along with pretty much everyone in the group. Though one of them, a pale and freckled redhead named Richard “Dick” Simmons, rubbed him the wrong way at first.

The orange-armored Grif wasn’t entirely sure why, but he always ended up feeling more tense and agitated when Simmons was around. It wasn’t like the socially awkward nerd was doing anything to really upset him, but still...

The two wound up arguing. A lot. So much so that Sarge and the others often ended up pairing them up together on assignments for their own fucked up amusement.

Arguments eventually led into conversations, and Grif was surprised at how much he actually began to enjoy the other man’s company. They just started naturally going out into the field together, and even began hanging out with one another in their spare time.

He became attached to Simmons in a way that he felt definitely went beyond the boundaries of the familial somehow. He found himself even going out of his way to do things with the maroon-armored redhead.

Grif fucking _dreamed_ about him. And, oh boy, could those dreams get graphic in a way that would surely make Simmons blush if he ever learned of them. Grif would even look for Simmons in the mornings, right after he checked in on Kai, just to argue or to talk. Hell, Grif even did actual _work_ if it meant spending more time with Simmons.

Such was the case right now, with the two of them supposedly on the roof for guard duty. For once it had actually been a quiet day with no conflict in sight, so Grif and Simmons had been allowed to sit down without their armor on. They had spent most of their guard duty time discussing what would be the lamest superpower ever.

After a spirited debate that had them both smiling and glaring at one another, Simmons had yawned and started to doze off. Grif knew the lankier man suffered from nightmares and didn’t rest as much as he should due to his extreme workaholic tendencies, so he said nothing when Simmons’ head had dipped down to rest on his shoulder.

The heavyset man closed his eyes, relishing the sudden flare up of heat that traveled up his body at the contact. While it was typical of his genetically engineered condition, it always felt more intense whenever the redhead was concerned. At the moment, Grif didn’t want to ponder why exactly that was.

“Hey, Simmons?” Grif asked quietly as he opened his eyes to look towards his companion on the roof.

“Hmm…?” Simmons’ reply was groggy as he turned his head slightly to get into a more comfortable resting position on Grif’s shoulder.

If the redhead fully awoke, he would no doubt totally freak out about their proximity. Grif would then, naturally, have to tease him mercilessly about it. As it stood right now, Grif couldn’t help but smile somewhat as he glanced down at the top of Simmons’ head. With a whole lot of effort, he resisted the suddenly very powerful urge he had to run his fingers through the slightly younger man’s red hair.

“…Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”

It would take Grif a little while longer to realize that what he was feeling for Simmons was love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is Grif’s (and Kai’s!) prequel story! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> The next _Prelude for Losers?_ will be Four Seven Niner’s story! :) But, stay tuned for the next chapter of _When We Were Soldiers_ first. Gotta get the ball rolling on the main story-line again since things were starting to get pretty intense in it! :D
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! :)


	6. Four Seven Niner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Despite the region known as Blood Gulch being located in a spot almost free of the lingering combat skirmishes that scattered the area, there was a still a hubbub of activity in the city’s streets. The aforementioned activity had spilled over into one of its many watering holes, an establishment rather aptly named The Gulch in honor of its location.

Four Seven Niner supposed the altogether excited, anxious, and even somewhat celebratory air about the bar couldn’t be helped. There _had_ been a rather big confrontation compared to what the region usually got about half a day ago right before she’d even arrived. It was a skirmish that whichever side Blood Gulch was currently fighting for had won. She could never remember who was on what side with all of the differing places she went to and, honestly, it wasn’t like the color affiliation ever truly mattered given how frequently they changed without so much as a word of notice.

Still, the enemy had been pushed back for probably another few weeks or so at least. So, they were free and clear of the fighting until someone attempted another offensive. It was a little thing that was worth partying over.

Adrenaline was still running high as people tried going back to their daily lives by celebrating either still being alive, licking their wounds, or mourning those who hadn’t been nearly as fortunate in either respect. Niner often found it to be more of a combination of all three scenarios.

The tan-skinned woman took a swig of her drink, brown eyes looking over at the two full glasses of amber liquid sitting nearby her now only half-full drink on the table’s splintery surface. She rested her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in-between her fingers as she mulled over why she had even come back to this remote spot.

If she was thinking logically, Blood Gulch was pretty far removed from her usual travel routes these days. Hell, it had been little more than a mere pitstop most of the time back in the _“glory days”_ of Project Freelancer.

She wouldn’t have even stepped off her transport the first time she had landed in Blood Gulch if York hadn’t insisted on them going to this great _“dive”_ he had stopped at once. It was the very same one she was sitting in now, even if half of the dingy bar looked to be brand-spanking new in light of repairs thanks to frequent damage.

Back then, Niner had been fairly certain she would probably never come back here again. It was funny how two separate communications from two very different, but connected, people from her past had made her rethink her plans entirely.

Sighing, the pilot tore her gaze away from the surface of her table as she heard the door to The Gulch open. She had picked an optimal spot close by the entrance so that she could see who was coming and going, but also where she could remain rather discreet while doing so.

As it had been for however long it was that she had been sitting here now, the pair that entered were clearly not there for her as they greeted her line of sight.

They were two younger males, a lanky redhead with freckles dotting way too pale skin in maroon armor and a shorter, heavyset black-haired guy with tan skin decked out in orange. The two were leaning rather close together, shoulders practically touching. The taller of the duo shook somewhat as the tan one ushered him to a spot at the very back of the bar.

Soldiers then, no doubt here to blow off some steam after the earlier fight. She briefly wondered if they were there on some kind of date as she noticed the two choosing to sit side-by-side at their chosen table instead of across from one another, heads bent closely together as they talked.

Not that it was any of her business what two strangers did together in their free time. Niner tore her gaze away from the two and found it drifting unbidden back down to the three glasses on her table. She frowned slightly, contemplating her own plans for the evening.

*****

_Four Seven Niner, long before she had ever taken up that particular moniker, had always dreamt of being a pilot. At least, as far back as she could remember. She had always gazed up at the sky when it wasn’t covered by a thick haze of smoke, dreaming about being up there instead, were she would be far removed from the fighting constantly tearing everything apart down below._

_It wasn’t until a few years after those earliest memories that her naïve ideas about the freedom of flight were forcibly torn from her. An airstrike razed her city to the ground and she had become an orphan. Despite that pain, her dream of being a pilot persisted._

_It had probably burned even brighter, now that she thought about it. Maybe it had been some subconscious desire for revenge, or a twisted sort-of coping mechanism. The sky had taken everything from her, so she would give it something back. But, that drive had pushed her to survive situations most kids would be fortunate not to have to deal with even though it was no secret that far too many of them did just that, enduring those types of constant hardships and worse constantly on a daily basis in every part of the world._

_The dreamer worked her ass off to become a pilot, leaving her old name and past somewhere in the dust and cloud trails in her wake along the way. Even though Niner no longer believed doing so could truly free her from the war, flying_ did _make her feel more alive. When she first experienced it, she felt free for the first time in a long while._

 _Niner never felt more at ease than when she was at the controls, even when she was constantly pulling off some crazy and dangerous maneuvering to avoid crashing back down to the earth below in a twisted ball of exploding metal. The literal_ “high” _she got from her exploits lasted for days at a time, but she was always up for flying even just a_ second _more if she could._

 _Her reputation eventually caught the attention of a rather secretive and very_ “hush, hush” _program looking for pilots willing to delve into often extremely hostile territories. What caught her attention was that this program wasn’t involved with either side of the pointless fighting, rather their focus seemed to be to use the continuing conflict to help advance technology that could, at some point in the future perhaps, help hasten the fighting’s end._

_It really sounded like a pipe dream, an offer so tempting that there just had to be a catch. But, Niner loved a challenge and she hadn’t even thought on the offer for a day before she said yes._

_Working as a pilot for Project Freelancer meant that she was pulling off her fanciest and ultimately most dangerous flying on a constant basis, and she loved every single chaotic moment of it. She also met some truly fascinating people, striking up a rapport with several as she routinely hauled their asses out of whatever firefight they inevitably landed in._

_Wyoming and Florida were her first Freelancers she flew to and out of a mission. Both were fond of friendly banter and teasing their comrades, but they were far more dangerous and skilled than most ever truly understood until it was far too late._

_The fraternal twins known as North and South Dakota were next. They worked well together, even if their personalities and individual skillsets were a stark contrast. Sending them out on missions together meant a pretty balanced team._

_C.T., who kept to herself more often than not save for bonding with a rookie and some of the Freelancer agents who were never at the top of the board, ended up ultimately knowing a hell of a lot more about what was really going on behind the scenes than any of them could have ever surmised. The genetically engineered rookie soldier Washington was always fun to try and get flustered, and Niner often found herself exchanging a silent nod in passing at least with the towering Maine._

_Tex arrived at the program last, another genetically engineered soldier from who-knew-where. Even she didn’t actually seem to know at first, though whether that truly upset her or not was something Tex kept close to her chest. She was the very definition of a badass extraordinaire, and shortly after her came the mysterious batch siblings that the higher-ups simply referred to as the Fragments. The cyborgs’ later revealed connections to the Director were kept a secret even from themselves until much later on._

_York was the one who kept her the most entertained though. The brown-haired man with the easygoing demeanor had been recruited roughly around the same time that Niner had been, and he was fairly easy to strike up a conversation with. It made sense given that as to why he was always quick to talk when there was time for it, always having a smile or a joke on-hand whenever they met. The invite for a friendly drink together after a mission eventually became simply implied._

_Then there was Carolina, the altogether utterly fearless, and reckless, leader of the bunch. The redhead was just as much of a badass as Tex was, always leaving the others in a trail of dust in her wake. She wanted to get things done as perfectly and efficiently as possible. The hours Carolina spent on training alone pretty much put everyone else to shame, and that was saying nothing about her performances out on the field._

_When they had been first introduced to one another, Carolina barely nodded her head in the pilot’s direction before she requested more time from the Director in the training room. Four Seven Niner had gotten the distinct impression that they wouldn’t get along well._

_But then their first mission together hit a pretty big snag and Carolina had cracked a joke about_ “heavy turbulence” _smack dab in the middle of a firefight, and Niner realized that the redhead was more than all right in her book._

_Carolina surprised her further by displaying a keen interest in copiloting, something none of the other Freelancer agents were all that fond of attempting when she was flying, soaking up Niner’s advice and comments like a sponge._

_Carolina started tagging along with the pilot and York on their bar runs, more than any of the others did. At some point, Niner started to realize that Carolina had somehow turned into the Freelancer she spent the majority of her limited free time with even when compared to York. She was nice company, even outside of work and the bar scene._

_The tan-skinned woman tried her hardest not to dwell on that thought overly much once it came to her attention. She tried to not stare too pointedly at the stubborn glint in Carolina’s green eyes, or how incredible her truly rare, genuine full-on smiles were._

_She tried to stop even more once she saw how truly close Carolina and York became to one another. After all, she wasn’t the type of person who would become a third wheel in the face of the happiness of two friends. No silly crush was going to change that._

_Instead, Niner contended herself with being happy for the pair._

_Eventually, her suspicions about Freelancer being too good to be true came to kick her and everyone else in the program in the ass with a vengeance._

_The project fell apart from the inside thanks to the Director’s private ambitions. The Fragments were revealed to be his own genetically-engineered clones, ones that he had been repeatedly torturing for the advancement of his research. The mysterious Tex was simply a forbidden replication of a wife he had refused to let go of. The Director was willing to throw them all under the transport so to speak when things went south and the truth finally came out._

_Some of the Fragments revolted, and most of them were killed in the ensuing struggle even if they hadn’t been directly involved. Tex led a defection in an attempt to free those who might still be alive and escape. The other Freelancers all chose sides in the fight that followed, most of them ultimately dying too._

_If they had even been around for the fight, that was. C.T. had been killed some time back after it was discovered that she’d been working for a group known as the Insurrection. It was obvious there was an inside person considering that particular group always had a very interesting habit of showing up at the places Freelancer were sent on missions to, but Niner was surprised to learn it had been Connecticut._

_Washington had been sent away earlier for some bullshit health reason. That was after what was supposed to be a routine mission with the Fragment known as Epsilon running cybernetic combat support went horribly wrong. Epsilon had not even been afforded that same kindness, though no one had known that at the time._

_Tex ended up pulling through the fight because of course she would. Carolina had done so as well, which was only fitting. She had ended up finally picking her side, no doubt shocking even herself at the time by choosing to try and help her_ “brothers” _over the Director. She and Tex had gotten out together, and they had traveled all over in an attempt to find the missing Epsilon._

_Four Seven Niner found herself alone in the wreckage of Project Freelancer’s aftermath. Alone and paralyzed from the waist down. She never did find out which one of her certainly now dead comrades had dragged her injured body out of harm’s way before the bombs had finished off the site of the project for good._

_She didn’t blame Epsilon or the surviving Freelancers for the tragedy. How could she, when she had known damn well that the thing had smelled a bit too sour from the very beginning? She had just never bothered trying to look deep enough, the same as so many others, and that was entirely on her._

_But, the pilot wasn’t one to throw herself a pity party. She mourned those she had lost, and she felt immense relief upon finding out about those she hadn’t. They all had shit to do in their lives, and they needed to move on._

_The first and only time she managed to work up the nerve to get in contact with Carolina while she was out searching the planet over for her surviving brother, Niner informed her that she needed no sentiment about what had happened…and that Carolina better damn well find something, anything that would make her feel happy in this new stage of her life._

_The woman known as Four Seven Niner was a fighter herself, after all. Always had been, even when she had just been a hopeful little kid dreaming about flying one day. She wasn’t going to allow_ anything _to keep her out of the skies, even a tiny thing like a wheelchair._

_She was quick to prove that she was still the best fucking pilot around._

*****

The next time that the door to The Gulch opened, a certain redhead decked out in cyan armor sans helmet stepped through it. For a split-second, Four Seven Niner’s breath caught in her throat as the former Freelancer’s gaze zeroed in on her. The time apart had certainly done the other woman justice, while she…

Niner swallowed down whatever self-deprecating claptrap had been about to crystalize in her brain just then, smiling widely instead as she waved the other female over, “Hey,” she greeted softly over the din of the bar as she patted the chair next to her, “Saved you a seat.”

Carolina walked over with that same purposeful stride she had always carried herself with before, sliding into the proffered seat without having to be asked twice. It was odd, in a way, how quickly they were stepping into their old dynamic together. Almost as if the past time apart hadn’t even happened…

“Do you still go by Four Seven Niner, or should I start calling you something else?” Carolina asked in lieu of greeting, always one to get straight to the point.

Four Seven Niner could relate. She smirked in reply, figuring the other woman would ask something like that right off the bat, “I think I’m going to be Four Seven Niner until the day I die.” She informed Carolina, “But feel free to call me whatever you want.” She frowned a second later though to add, “Except something stupid like _Wheels_ because I will not hesitate to run you over if you do.”

A thin smile spread across Carolina’s lips, “Noted.”

There was a momentary lull in conversation as Niner moved one of the still full glasses over to the green-eyed female sitting next to her without so much as a word. Whenever they had gone out drinking together before, whoever had gotten there first paid for the first round. It was tradition, even if Carolina somehow always _only_ ever managed to be late at those very specific outings once she learned the custom.

Carolina’s smile widened a fraction at the silent gesture before she glanced around the side of the silver-wearing pilot’s head, her eyes widening a fraction at the sight she caught while glancing towards a very specific table behind them, “I don’t believe it.” She murmured so quietly that Niner had to strain to even hear her, “What are _they_ doing here?”

Carolina was staring at the two younger soldiers in maroon and orange armor who had walked in before her. Their heads were now touching as they slumped together in their side-by-side seats, clearly well into another helping of alcoholic drinks by the look of things.

Niner raised an eyebrow at her reaction, “New friends of yours?”

A nod, “You could say that. Grif and Simmons are part of the fam—” Carolina paused, catching herself, “ _Group_ we’re staying with.”

Niner was a bit happy at the almost slipup, but figured letting Carolina know that would only lead to a staunch denial of what she had been about to say and her shutting up to avoid further potential embarrassment.

The pilot glanced at the pair in question over her shoulder. The guy in orange had draped an arm over the lanky one’s shoulders as he leaned closer against him, his tan-skinned face darkening in a heated blush that matched the near scarlet hue of the maroon-wearing man’s.

“Looks like they’re on a date.” Niner casually observed, turning back around to give them privacy.

Carolina’s stare lingered only a fraction longer before she did the same, a surprisingly soft look crossing over her features as she nodded, “It’s about damn time.” A wry smile fluttered over her lips, “I’ve been watching those idiots dance around the tension for way too long. We all have.”

“Really?” The tan-skinned woman couldn’t help but feel rather amused by the revelation. To think that the feared Freelancers would get so invested in the love lives of their friends!

“Church even has a bet going on with Tex over it.” Carolina joked, and Niner felt a small trill of exaltation at how the redhead was no longer grimacing noticeably at the mention of the black-armored woman’s name. It seemed as if their joint concern for Epsilon had helped them find common ground after all.

“That seems about right.” Niner responded, knowing full well about Tex’s fondness for earning money. There was another lull in the conversation, and Niner took in a breath and let it out before asking her next question: “How’s the rookie doing?”

She hadn’t seen Washington since before all of the mess had happened, and he had been _badly_ off then. Details from both communication-wise had been sparse, but evidently at some point his path had connected with Carolina and Tex’s again and he was currently living here in Blood Gulch.

“Better.” Carolina’s expression was thoughtful as she touched her glass, “He’s adjusting. He sometimes gets along with everyone better than we do.”

Niner felt her own lips curving upwards at the news. That was good to hear.

Carolina looked down at the contents of her glass, her hand still gingerly clasped around it. When she looked up at Niner’s face again, her expression was almost uncharacteristically shy, “Do you want to…meet Grif and Simmons now then?” She asked, “Since they’re here…?”

It was as if Carolina was offering to invite someone to meet her family for the first time. One that she was protective of, and hoping that both sides liked the other.

Niner’s smile only grew larger at the thought, though she shook her head all the same, “Nah, I don’t want to ruin their date.”

Carolina risked a quick glance over at the pair still very much wrapped up in their own little world, a fond sort-of smile creasing her features slightly before she silently turned back around.

Four Seven Niner watched her for a moment, oddly relieved at the sight, “Your time with this group has done you wonders.”

“You think?” Carolina raised an eyebrow incredulously even as she smirked, “They drive me crazy more often than I can count.”

Niner shrugged in response, “It takes all kinds.”

Carolina looked over at her contemplatively, “You should come back with me. Meet everyone.” She stated at length, both sure and unsure all at once, “The others would love seeing you again too.”

The hopeful tinge in the other woman’s tone caused the pilot’s chest to tighten slightly, and Niner glanced down quickly as she tried covering up the sudden rush of heat to her face. It would be truly nice to take up Carolina’s offer, to see Washington and Epsilon again. To meet the misfits who had been such an impact on all of them. But, she _was_ already scheduled to meet up with Tex and…

Niner swallowed stiffly, “Tempting, but I should probably wait to see how this last big mission goes before I make too many new friends.”

That response gave Carolina pause, and the pilot had to admit she almost felt guilty about being touched by the worry in her regard then, “What kind of mission?” The former Freelancer asked, determined curiosity shining through.

…Because the pilot certainly hadn’t worded that carefully enough to avoid anxiety, had she?

Niner tried playing it cool afterwards, shrugging rather indifferently, “Eh, it’s nothing too major on _my_ end. I should be all right,” she smirked, “And I might just take you up on that offer afterwards.”

“I think you should.” Carolina relaxed slightly in her seat, “You’d probably get along with everyone really well.”

“Most likely.” If the impact they had clearly had on Carolina already was any indication, she had no doubt of that.

Carolina’s gaze went to the third glass on the table, and she pointed towards it in playful curiosity, “Expecting someone else?”

“Not quite.” She smiled wistfully, “It’s for York, since he first introduced me to this bar. We shared a drink here whenever we were in the area.”

Carolina stilled at the admission, her eyes remaining glued on the drink.

Niner frowned, a sinking feeling forming in her gut that she had just inevitably ruined the reunion, “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that, huh?”

Carolina surprised her by shaking her head, “It’s a nice gesture.” She noted, tearing her green eyes away from the glass to fix them on Niner’s face with a knowing smile, “Though we both know how York hated letting a good drink go to waste.”

“Right.” Four Seven Niner gave a curt nod and reached her hand out to remedy that particular problem…

…At the exact same time that Carolina reached over with her hand to do the same. Their fingers touched, the sudden contact warm.

The two women stared at each other, Carolina letting out a deep breath, “Why don’t we split it?” She mumbled, almost as if embarrassed.

Niner’s throat felt very dry as she nodded, “Y—yeah.”

Carolina picked up the glass first, holding it up in the air for a moment, “To York.” She muttered softly before taking a long sip.

She passed the remaining liquid content over to Niner, grabbing her own glass as the pilot saluted with the beverage too, “To York.” Niner downed the liquor as Carolina emptied her own glass in one impressively long swig.

“I should probably get back.” Carolina stated quietly as she set the glass down, “But thank you for meeting me.” She smiled, “It was good to catch up and reminisce.”

“Yeah, it really was. We shouldn’t wait so long next time.” Niner smiled right back at her, “But I guess we both had some growing to do.”

Carolina looked as if she wanted to say more, but awkwardly cleared her throat instead, “You have to go soon, right?”

The disappointment in her voice almost made Niner reconsider her earlier decision to go on a mission with Tex, “Unfortunately. Still fighting the good fight.”

“Right.”

Carolina left a few moments later after a brief nod. It was for the best, really. Neither of them had ever been too keen on lengthy goodbyes. Niner let out a sigh before downing the remainder of her drink and checking her messages again. She shot off a quick _“I’m ready.”_ to Tex, wondering just how much the former Freelancer had told the group about what she was setting off to do.

…Not that the pilot obviously had much room to talk on that front she thought with a self-deprecating smirk. But, she had just…she _couldn’t_ bring all of the messy details to the surface after she had just seen Carolina being so at ease for once.

As she paid for her tab, Four Seven Niner peered behind her and noticed that Carolina’s friends Grif and Simmons were nowhere to be found. She recalled Carolina’s earlier words about the pair and smiled, hoping that the redheaded woman would have more moments and people to feel glad over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about this particular prequel: it was actually the starting point for me deciding to even do these early one shots to begin with! I had the idea to write out a reunion between Four Seven Niner and Carolina set right before the pilot goes off to help Tex fight Charon. My plan was that it would somehow inadvertently tie into another short story about the “in the shade” incident of this AU between Grif and Simmons that they are still quite awkward about in the present day fic’s timeline. From those two initial story ideas, the notion to write out a whole bunch of prequels ended up floating to the surface. :D I had a ton of fun FINALLY getting the chance to write this one out. :D
> 
> The “in the shade” story will be appearing a bit later on too, though there are still a few chapters for _When We Were Soldiers_ and some more character-driven prequels to post beforehand. I’m getting so excited that I’m finally able to write out some of the ideas for this story-verse that I have been waiting to go into more for a REALLY long time now!
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always! :D


	7. Doyle and Kimball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

If ever asked about his life in general, Donald Doyle would probably be the first person to adamantly declare that he had one of the least interesting or altogether tragic tales of any person who had been born into a seemingly endless and very much pointless war.

The white with gold trim wearing armored man with dusty blond hair had been born in the region of Chorus, in the very city that bore said region’s name. The most adventure and travel he had ever done thus far in his life had simply been a few tours of the wastelands around Chorus whenever it had been deemed relatively safe enough for organized groups to venture forth and scavenge for always desperately needed supplies. He lived vicariously through the tales of more seasoned and well-traveled citizens, and could only picture other areas of their war-torn world thanks to shaky, often spotty vid-feeds and hastily taken photographs.

Although his adventurous, inquisitive side sometimes yearned for more, Doyle buried his desire down with the ever-present reminders of violence and death that permeated even the protective walls of Chorus. After all, the city itself was far from free of the incessant fighting that plagued the planet proper.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he was all that well-versed in surviving large-scale battles and traversing through hostile terrain. The last thing he wanted to do was wander off into his own bloody demise. No, Doyle knew he didn’t, would truly never, have the stomach for something like that.

He came from a long line of men and women who had assisted the great leaders of Chorus. The leaders that had somehow managed to keep the region afloat and somewhat self-sufficient amidst the engulfing chaos of outside forces. _That_ was the role Doyle was most suited for, and it was the one he had spent his entire life preparing for.

But his family, often as tragically short-lived as so many families were during this time period, had failed to explain just how insidiously ugly and horrific war was. Perhaps they had simply assumed he would find out on his own, as he ultimately did. Training and preparation could really only take one so far.

He had been in no way prepared to witness the devastation firsthand. Who could be, he mused often to himself. He never could fully cope with always losing his superiors, his subordinates, his friends and his family whenever the fighting reached the walls of Chorus.

Doyle could never, ever shake the all-consuming terror that threatened to utterly devour him as he repeatedly watched destruction and death overwhelm the home he loved so very much.

He tried to learn to adapt in order to best stay afloat. He remained polite and cordial, always seeking to make new friends and acquaintances despite the gaping loss of previous ones. He focused on defense and rebuilding to try to take his mind off of the pain.

Taking as much comfort as he could in the little things helped Doyle navigate through the hurdles, it kept him going even when he so desperately wanted to curl in on himself and just _stop_.

_“Little things”_ such as when his latest superior announced his upcoming marriage to a long-legged brunette. She had only recently moved to Chorus and was already dreaming of one day opening some kind of establishment there. Remembering the smiles and rather hopeful looks on the faces of all those around him, weary but desperate for a chance to see something positive once more, he couldn’t help but want to cling to the happy visage as tightly as he could.

*****

Vanessa Kimball had been born, raised, and trained as part of yet another genetically engineered batch created to help make life _“easier”_ for those stuck on a perpetually war-torn planet. That usually meant throwing batches of the artificially created into the fray to shield the _“natural born”_ of the population, so it kind of sucked for the genetically engineered.

She had been created to be a Supply Runner, and there was scarce little time in her life when she could even remember _not_ being in constant motion. She had barely ever been allowed the luxury to rest in her hometown of Chorus, but whenever the sand with ice trim wearing armored woman had the rare opportunity to do so, she absolutely loved it.

There was a peace and beauty to Chorus that she came to desperately crave as a reprieve from the chaos and loss. Many of its citizens were downright respectful and grateful to her for her forced service, as compared to the more distasteful views she received elsewhere. Some had even come to her defense in the times when another wasn’t as open-minded.

She appreciated that, and often volunteered to help in reconstruction efforts just out of a desire to do something, _anything_ , to help Chorus remain as hopeful as it could be to both herself and others like her.

She would always find herself eager to finish even the more suicidal missions she and those of her batch were given if it meant protecting Chorus. Stepping foot back onto the region’s soil renewed her energy afterwards like nothing else could.

She survived despite so many attempts being made to prevent it, and she had become that much stronger for it. By the time Chorus had officially declared the forced usage of genetically engineered people illegal, well before the rest of the world when the war was inexplicably over did, she had befriended even the latest leader of Chorus and was deemed instrumental in his disavowing of both the Supply Runner program and the creation of future batches.

By that time, only she and a younger Supply Runner named Charles Palomo were still alive, but knowing that they would be the last of their kind created in Chorus, Kimball considered it a major victory in further improving the region for all.

She continued to work hard towards her goal of making Chorus as safe as possible, to try to ensure that no one else who came to live there would suffer as she and Palomo had. For all intents and purposes, it was what kept her going.

*****

The first time that Doyle saw Kimball in any sort of personal capacity, it had been at the wedding.

To be sure, he had heard of the younger, dark-skinned woman beforehand, as pretty much everyone residing in Chorus was well-aware of the Supply Runner who had so notably risen within the ranks of a system that, before, would have never allowed it. Most spoke of her with admiration and respect, though there were still some woefully close-minded individuals out there. Doyle tried not to pay them any heed. After all, Kimball’s efforts were indeed quite remarkable even if their paths had yet to cross.

It was Cass, his superior’s new bride, who introduced them, amusement dancing across her eyes as she grinned at them both, “I can’t believe you two haven’t met yet considering how much talk I hear about the both of you at home!”

Her doting husband, his arm slung over Cass’ shoulders as he pulled her close, was also smiling widely as Doyle and Kimball sized one another up, “It’s only because I have such high hopes for you two.” He assured them.

Doyle had, admittedly rather foolishly, stood there, mouth hanging open in speechless astonishment. He didn’t think he had ever seen such a beautiful woman before.

Kimball’s eyebrows raised up the longer his silence carried, her chin jutting out in obvious annoyance at his prolonged muteness. Far too late for him to correct the mistake, he realized regretfully that she thought he was insulting her by not deigning to talk to a Supply Runner.

…Well, his face grew terribly warm at the sudden thought, would admitting the _real_ reason for his stunned silence be any better? Either way, he’d positively die of embarrassment!

Their introduction ultimately proved to be the first time they argued over a simple misunderstanding. It would be far from the last.

*****

It wasn’t too long after that meeting that both Kimball and Doyle became the righthand men of Chorus’ leader. Tragically, just a year after his marriage had given everyone residing in Chorus a cause for celebration, the man was killed in action during a raid by another region.

Afterwards, the two left behind learned that, should something have ever happened to him, he had mandated that they were both to be given the status of co-leaders.

_“Damn it!”_ Kimball’s fist made impact with the metal of the door behind her, and Doyle nervously glanced at the impressive dent she had left, wringing his own hands. No doubt her knuckles would bruise later.

He swallowed anxiously, his throat dry. He hated bringing it up since they were both still upset and in shock, but…

“Yes, well. What should we do?”

Kimball glared over at him, but he knew the act wasn’t really directed his way entirely. Not really. She probably did think he had asked a dumb question though.

He was proven right when her expression softened into a defeated one and her shoulders sagged a moment later, “What else _can_ we do?” Kimball asked, although her tone left no room for a reply.

Neither of them were sure what to make of the notion, but they knew that, for Chorus, they were both willing to at least give co-leading a chance.

*****

Kimball was the one who suggested Chorus’ open door policy following the _“official”_ end of the war.

She reasoned that it would help strengthen their numbers and boost the economy, not to mention help many who had been displaced and uprooted due to the fighting and its abrupt aftermath.

But, given their tendency to seemingly always feel that the exact opposite of what their fellow co-leader thought was what was best for Chorus, she was certain that Doyle would disagree with her suggestion.

The dark-skinned woman was mentally going through her painstakingly assorted list of counters to whatever opposing viewpoint he might have even before her mouth had closed following her suggestion, bracing for a lengthy and pointless _(because she knew she was right, damn it!)_ debate.

“I think you’re quite right, Miss Kimball.” Doyle stated with only a moment to ponder, “It is vitally important for Chorus to grow and thrive in this new era.”

Kimball gaped in surprise for so long that Doyle became red-faced and fidgeted self-consciously in his seat under her brown-eyed gaze. Focusing on her victory instead, she decided not to dwell on her odd sense of lingering disappointment that the discussion hadn’t ended up lasting longer.

*****

The two co-leaders were both present when the odd, mismatched group calling themselves the Reds and Blues, perhaps as an odd tribute to the war that had inadvertently brought their family together, arrived at Chorus.

The group of worn-out soldiers, comprised of both genetically engineered humans and naturally birthed ones, stood out. It was as if they were perfect examples of the type of cohesive unity that Kimball and Doyle had been hoping they could achieve in Chorus.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, kiss-ass! You can have a nerd-gasm over tech later.” A chubby man in orange stated as he grabbed the elbow of a lanky fellow in maroon following him who had nearly bumped into a wall while looking around the city in wonderment, guiding the other male in joining the others in front of the two leaders.

“I—I wasn’t…!” The freckled redhead said as he became flustered, “That wasn’t what I was doing, fat-ass!”

The orange-armored man simply rolled his eyes in response, “Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say, Simmons.”

Doyle and Kimball shared a look at the exchange. The Reds and Blues were certainly colorful in their interactions with one another, to say the least.

The Reds and Blues were quick to setup a warehouse on the outskirts of the city to help go through and refurbish materials and supplies found throughout the wastelands, soon becoming quite valued residents of Chorus.

…As well as something of good friends to many of the other residents, including both Doyle and Kimball.

It was an odd feeling, Kimball mused, to find out that the two co-leaders had even more in common than she first thought.

*****

The party to celebrate the anniversary of Chorus’ founding was going well, especially since so many of the restored establishments in the still being built up entertainment district had volunteered to stay open to help with the festivities.

Palomo had begged Kimball to take the night off, acting for all the world like the stubborn, slightly-annoying-yet-altogether-endearing little brother figure her housemate had become to her over the years. Apparently, he was eager to have her meet a newcomer he was crushing on face-to-face.

There was still a lot of work that needed to be done, but for the moment? Kimball was content to let everyone forget about that and enjoy themselves, so she let Palomo drag her along, waiting while he went to find Katie and her family in the crowd.

“Grif! For the last time, you can’t just eat directly from the buffet trays!” The familiar, high-pitched voice of a frustrated Richard “Dick” Simmons reached her ears.

Kimball watched as the tan-skinned man called Dexter Grif rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Well, they really needed to put out bigger plates then.” He reasoned sagely.

Simmons was glancing around furtively, “You’re going to get in trouble.” He stage whispered like they were sharing some terribly dark secret.

“No one’s forcing you to stick around, you know.”

Simmons frowned as if considering the matter, but he still chose not to leave. Instead, he hesitantly inched closer to Grif until their shoulders were brushing against one another.

Grif paused, a noticeable shiver running up his entire body as he glanced over at a blushing Simmons who was now finding the trays of food before the two of them utterly fascinating. There was a darkening flush to Grif’s own cheeks as well as he turned his gaze back down to the food too.

Neither of the men made any effort to put more distance between them, Kimball noted. Cheered by the display of surprising intimate closeness and thrilled to be able to witness everyone seemingly enjoying themselves, Kimball started to mingle herself.

She found Palomo with Katie before he dragged the poor girl all over the place looking for Kimball. She recognized the tan-skinned, freckled girl as Lieutenant Jensen, who she immediately got into a lively discussion with on the lighting systems’ power outage for tonight while Palomo beamed happily at the two getting along with a darkening flush on his cheeks every time Jensen so much as turned his way.

It was quite cute, and Kimball had a feeling that if Jensen ever recognized Palomo’s earnest feelings and reciprocated them at some point, she would do the young man a world of good. Kimball could only hope she would be able to see it happen. Palomo deserved some happiness and warmth in his life. Just like everyone here did.

Later on, when Kimball tore her gaze up from a throng of well-wishers who had surrounded her, she caught sight of Grif and Simmons standing off by themselves farther away from the party, looking up at the stars together in what seemed to be a contented, companionable sort of silence.

She smiled slightly at the sight, just as a cry of _“Miss Kimball!”_ reached her ears and she turned around to face the only person who ever addressed her thusly.

*****

Kimball turned around to face him, and Doyle was once again struck absolutely speechless at the sight of Kimball enveloped in the pale glow of moonlight and softly dimmed lighting overhead. She took in his reaction with an unreadable expression and Doyle nearly flinched backwards at the sudden fear that she might misconstrue his reaction once more, his face heating up as he did so.

To his further astonishment, however, Kimball actually quirked her lips upwards in one of the rarest and most captivating smiles he had ever had the good fortune to witness, “Doyle, want to join me in a round of star and people gazing?” She inquired amicably.

“I—I…” His mind had gone completely blank at this turn of events, so used to their interactions ending rather poorly.

Kimball smiled even more at his flustered response, looping her arm through his in a comradely fashion, “We can always save the arguing for another night, don’t you agree?” She asked to break the ice.

Doyle’s throat was dry again, and his whole body was no doubt on fire. A very much _elated_ feeling pored into his being, as he smiled back gratefully and nodded mutely in turn.

…It was a pleasant, enjoyable change of routine for both Doyle and Kimball, even if it would take them quite a long time to admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Doyle was pretty much smitten with Kimball from the get-go, while Doyle had to grow on Kimball a bit beforehand. XD I hope you enjoyed their shared prequel together! Also, this MIGHT actually be my first time ever writing Doyle’s POV, now that I think about it. I hope I did his character justice! :D
> 
> The last part of _Prelude for Losers?_ is going to cover the Lieutenants’ stories, and it will be followed by two Grimmons prequel pieces. But first, another chapter of the main story _When We Were Soldiers_ is going to be posted! We are actually pretty close to the ending for this story-verse, so I hope that you will bear with me and that these final stories and chapters will be enjoyable and well worth the wait. :D
> 
> Also, I MIGHT be posting a new story at some point soon because I’m clearly insane and like to punish myself. My brain getting a ton of story ideas all at once can be really stress-inducing even while it is fun at the same time. XD
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! :D


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